


Until That Day Comes

by Sneakyfox55



Series: Never Forget [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (and monsters), Amnesia, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Awkwardness, Depression, Determination (Undertale), Dissociation, Established Relationship, F/M, Frisk (Undertale) Is a Sweetheart, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grillby is a good bro, I love that that's a tag lmao, I wonder who it could be, Kinda, Lack of Communication, Magic, Memory Alteration, Mild Language, Mystery, Papyrus (Undertale) Knows More Than He Lets On, Papyrus isn't dumb, Piano, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Protective Sans (Undertale), Re-falling In Love, Reader is kind of a jerk at first, Reader is trying, Reader/MC kind of needs a good 'ol slap, Reestablishing Friendships, Repressed Memories, Sans (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Sans is a dork, Sans is trying, Science, Self-Esteem Issues, Slight Misunderstandings, Slow Burn, Snas is a sad bean, Somewhere, Soul Study, Still, THE FLUFF HAS BEGUN, Texting, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Typical Undertale Racism, Undertale Saves and Resets, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, You're Welcome, and he's convinced himself otherwise, author likes chatting in comments, because he's a selfless idiot, because you're going to be, both of you are d u m b, can you even call it that, do ya'll like being confused?, do you have a sister actuallly, everybody needs a hug tbh, everybody used to be your friend, frustrating, give the skeleton a frEAKIN’ HUG DANGIT--, honestly Sans needs a slap too, i have no idea what the true plot is yet, i swear there's fluff here guys, implied suicidal thoughts, in her own weird way, matchmaker Papyrus?, memory wiping, murder??, ngl i like being evil, no fluff for quite a while, not beta read we die like men, oh and i completely forgot, only angst, please bear with me, plot is very very complex btw, preferably by you, reader is also a dork, reader is female, sans is a sweetheart, self-deprecation, someone has it out for you hmm, talk of souls, the beginning is weird but it'll make sense soon i swear, theories are very much welcome though c:, things are sort of explained but never fully, way too much phone usage than is acceptable, we'll find out together, you and Sans were married
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 52
Words: 76,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneakyfox55/pseuds/Sneakyfox55
Summary: You wake up, and you don't know where you are. You don't knowwhoyou are, or why you're here. You don't know these people...And you most certainly don't know whoheis.There is one thing you do remember, though; and only one thought is clear in your mind:Above all else,you need to find your sister.
Relationships: Reader & Other(s), Sans (Undertale)/Reader
Series: Never Forget [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879786
Comments: 989
Kudos: 282





	1. Until Death Do We...

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to start another sad unnecessary Sans/Reader, this time with more drama! and action (maybe)! 
> 
> so here you go, have fun

Apparently, skeletons can sweat--more than they should, anyhow, because it wasn't like Sans didn't know beforehand what he was and wasn't capable of.

...Why was he thinking about that. What was wrong with him, why couldn't he just relax?

I mean, he knew why but--

_Why were you not here yet?!_

You bailed, didn't you? Of course you did, you probably had better things to do than come here--

_Oh gods what if you knew._

_You probably knew what he was planning to do and you bailed because you didn't want to say no right to his face, did you._

_I mean really why would you, you were too good for him, why even **come here**._

_He knew it was worthless, he knew he didn't deserve you, why did he even bother--_

"Sorry I'm late!"

...Wait what.

He straightened back up, as though he hadn't just been almost falling out of his chair, and met your gaze with a barely-convincing grin. "uh, hey."

You just smiled at him in response, which made his soul race a hundred times faster than it already was--which was saying a lot.

Also. Holy crap.

You looked _amazing_.

Of course, he knew you would, but _this_ , he wasn't really expecting--

"Seriously, I'm sorry," you added, sounding like you meant it, which he wasn't too fond of. "They kept me later than I thought and--"

"'s no problem, doll." He wanted to say something else, to make you feel better, but it felt like his nonexistent tongue was in knots at that moment; all he could do was stare at you for a moment, which was probably creepy.

"...Is something wrong?"

Sure enough, you noticed him staring, and he half-snapped out of his daze. "uh, no, sorry..."

Oh boy. You looked even more nervous. Good job, Sans. "If--I'm sorry if this outfit is too much, I--"

"no!" he blurted, too quickly. "you're fine! great!!"

...Wow.

His only saving grace is the fact you laughed at that.

Okay, it had officially been an hour and you two were still just sitting here, not making a move--much less him.

Should he do it now? Would that be weird? This probably wasn't even that romantic, right?

He probably messed up. You were going to hate him. He was such an idiot.

"Sans," you interrupted his thoughts with your voice, your eyes filled with concern. Oh geez, how could he get past that look. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"err, yeah." Way to be smooth. Then, before he could convince himself otherwise: "uh, look over there!"

"...What?"

"shooting star," he choked out, near close to a coughing fit. You gave him a very odd look, but decided to look at the sky anyway. Without your gaze he almost fell to the floor in an effort to get out of his seat.

Okay. Now--

"I don't see anything, Sans," you point out, your voice all levels of unimpressed. You start turning around. "Really, if you're that embarrassed about your own outfit why don't we just head back to your..."

Your voice trailed off, and any ounce of humor you had been trying to tease him with flew out the metaphorical window.

Your mouth dangled open, and you merely stared back at him, and the way his entire body seemed to shake.

"u-uhhhh," he winced--oh stars he ruined this big time, didn't he--why can't he even hold the box right without trembling so hard-- "will, you--uh..." He stopped himself, seeming to lose all knowledge of speech.

"Oh my gods."

His eye-sockets shot open, and he looked up at you, preparing himself for your inevitable answer, because by this point you obviously knew what was happening, he just hoped you wouldn't be too unforgiving--

Oh. Oh no.

_Oh no._

_What the Hell, why were you crying, how could he make you **cry** \--_

_What had he done--_

"'m s-sorry, i didn't--i'm sorry, doll, please don't--" he practically stumbled, forgetting the box in his hand temporarily as he tried to fumble his way to you in some odd attempt of comfort. He must have tripped his way further to oblivion because you ended up having to dive forward and catch him before he face-planted.

"Sans, stop," you laughed, actually _laughed_ , even though tears were streaming down your face, "stop apologizing."

"wh--"

You pull the box out from behind you, having caught it a second before you caught him.

At first, he thought you just hadn't wanted to let something so expensive go to waste.

But then you looked up at him, tears still in your eyes, not an ounce of uncertainty or disgust in you.

"Yes," is all you uttered, through another smile; a loving, absolutely sure-of-yourself smile. And Sans couldn't believe his luck.

...It's no wonder that same luck wouldn't last.

* * *

Two weeks.

Only two weeks, you were his. Only two weeks, he was yours. Forever and ever, both of you promised. Until death do you part.

And then you were gone.

* * *

Frisk tried knocking on his door. It didn't work. They tried pounding harder, and it still didn't work.

So they took out a key--one they made sure not to tell anyone they'd gotten, of course--and unlocked the door.

It swung open, slowly. Almost sadly.

The room was dark. A bit chilly. Nothing about the atmosphere made them went to go in, but...

Something else did:

 _Determination_.


	2. Let's Go Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk offers a solution.
> 
> Sans isn't too fond of the idea, at first, but...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to get the story rolling more, so have an extra surprise chapter!

Carefully, almost delicately, Frisk made their way into the room, dodging piles of misplaced clothing and socks. The air felt stuffy, and smelled like old sweat and dirty--well, socks. There was also still dust littering the walls and floor, despite someone living here now; granted, this was Sans we were talking about, so Frisk wasn't too surprised.

But it didn't make them feel better. The fact his room was in the same exact state as it'd been when he was gone seemed to upset them all the more.

They'd heard he sold his house, and only had come back to live with Papyrus just a month or so ago. The month when...

Well...

Nobody liked to talk about it. And they didn't like asking anyone questions.

Especially Sans.

Say anything about you, he'd just shut down, and wouldn't talk to them for the rest of the day. By the morning he'd be ~~relatively~~ fine, but on more than one occasion they knew not to bring it up again so soon.

Papyrus was worried. More worried than ever, and Frisk didn't blame him.

They were worried too.

Which was why they'd reached a conclusion.

They were going to ask him something.

 ~~They wondered if he would agree or not. He would have disagreed immediately, once upon a time. Now they weren't sure.~~ ~~~~

It was worth a shot, in case...

The child finally made it to his bed, and instantly knew he wasn't sleeping. They sensed his gaze on them.

"...what are you doing here."

Yep, sure enough.

They climbed onto the bed, like they used to every other time they visited him--back when things were better. They'd only just recently got up the courage to actually go into his room like this again. They knew he didn't like anyone but Papyrus coming in.

"what do you want, kid?" he grumbled, purposely avoiding their gaze. "'m not in the mood."

They insisted by tugging on the greasy sheets wrapped around him. He grunted and rolled over onto his other side, trying to make a point. They just huffed and tugged at him again.

"frisk..." he growled warningly.

They tugged again; and he finally rolled back over to look at them, his eye-sockets dark.

" w h a t ? "

Unfazed, they begin to sign something.

_I'm sorry. I know you don't like talking about her but--_

"no."

They faltered, only once, before continuing. _Please, just listen, Sans--_

He scooted away from them, his grin looking almost menacing as he fully glared at them, snarling another, more insistent " n o . "

This time, Frisk's gaze hardened. Without warning they dove forward, forcing him to look at them again as they signed, _I know a way we can get (Y/N) back._

Sans didn't respond at first. Just stared back at them. Almost emotionless.

Then they felt a tug on their being.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Sans picked them up by their soul, and they struggled--only for him to set them gently on the ground, away from him.

"no resets."

 _But--_ they began.

"no. resets. you promised."

_But what--we could bring her back! You could get her back, and you'd be happy again, and--_

"'s not worth it."

Their hands lowered, and they stared at him, eyebrows furrowing in confused sadness.

"But you'd get her _back_ ," they repeated in a whisper, their voice raspy from being unused.

Sans just blinked at them--then the edges of his mouth twitched up in what they knew as a grin. A dry, humorless one.

"ya know there ain't no guarantees of that, kid."

Frisk paused. Then,

_Maybe. But please, think about it?_

He sighed, and turned away again.

"sure."

Less than satisfied, Frisk finally let their arms fall to their sides. With a heavy heart, they took their leave.

* * *

It wasn't that simple. The kid knew that, right? You might as well have been an anomaly of your own accord. Even if if they chose to reset, even if he agreed to it, there was no use.

You were gone.

He knew you were.

...

...And yet.

He couldn't help but wonder...

* * *

They think about it, multiple times after talking to Sans that day, even upon coming back home.

They'd be lying if they said they weren't seriously considering it.

They would be lying if they said they didn't have it out now.

...Maybe Sans will be okay, they thought. Maybe something good will come out of this.

_And maybe nothing will._

_Maybe this was all for nothing._

Frisk just wants what's best for everyone. For their friends.

_I just want Sans to be happy._

And maybe, he's changed his mind.

So, they move their finger towards the button, hovering over "RESET..."

And they hear a door slam.

Quickly, they make the button recede back into their soul, just as Toriel bursts into their room.

"Frisk!" she gasps, her cheeks wet--had she been crying? "The Sergeant just called!"

 _Mr. Everman?_ they sign back at her, more curious than anything.

"Yes! They--they found her!"

Frisk freezes.

"They found (Y/N)!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm what luck


	3. As Luck Would Have It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's you!
> 
> ...Isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

_You're alive._

I mean, Frisk had been hoping, that somehow, some way, you were still out there somewhere and you were fine but--but you'd been missing for an entire _month_ , and--

They'd truly considered resetting, just to get you back. They hadn't actually been expecting _this_ , for you to just... Just _appear_ , suddenly, and...

And you're even alive. Chances were by the time they might have found you, you wouldn't be but, but you're _alive_.

Their heart thudding, Frisk watches their mother pace around the kitchen, still talking on the phone with someone--another cop, maybe. Or doctor; they'd said they brought you to the hospital, and you were still recovering. From what, Frisk doesn't know. Who _does_ know what happened to you, during all that time.

But at least you're back, right?

At least you're here.

They're not sure if Sans has been told yet. They don't think so, mostly by the way Toriel's been telling Papyrus about the situation. It feels... Wrong, that they wouldn't tell him. Shouldn't he of all people know...?

"Frisk, get dressed," they perk up at their mom's sudden order, her phone discarded, "we will be leaving."

 _Leaving?_ they asked. _Where?_

"We are going up to the hospital."

At that notion, they jump off the couch to their feet and dart upstairs to their room--a few moments later they return in their signature blue-and-purple shirt, bouncing excitedly on their feet.

Finally! They can't wait to see you!

* * *

At first, you're sure you'd just been dreaming. Even when you wake up, you think you're still asleep, and none of this is real.

But you're in pain. Quite a lot of it. Your head, mostly.

Did you hit it, or...?

...Why can't you remember?

"Ah, Miss (Y/N), you're awake!"

You snap your head around to look at whoever just came into your... Room? Wait, this isn't your room. You don't recognize this place at all.

Why the Hell are you in a hospital?

"Where am I?" you mutter, rubbing your head, only to find it's wrapped in bandages. "Who are you?"

The strange woman checks a machine next to you, before looking back and smiling pleasantly. "Some people found you in the woods, unconscious. You were brought here."

Woods... Unconscious? _What?_ "I don't--" you begin, but she interrupts you by handing over a remote of sorts, pointing to a button on it particular.

"Press this if you need anything; me or somebody else can come help you," she says, then starts to the door. You're too bewildered to do anything but stare after her.

Either you fall asleep again at some point or last track of time, because next thing you know that same nurse is back, asking if you need anything despite you not having requesting such. You shake your head no--or at least try to--and expect her to leave then and there, but she doesn't.

"If it's not too much for you, there are some people who would like to see you," she says instead.

...What.

"Who?" you blurt, only feeling slightly embarrassed after you do so.

"They claim to be your friends. Would you like me to send them in, Miss?"

But wait, _who_ on mother earth is trying to see you? What happened to you?

"Um... Sure?" you end up saying eventually, kind of scared but also curious.

The nurse beams and goes back out of the room; a minute passes, and you don't see her again.

Instead, a child? Rushes into the room??

"Wh--" you get out, before they suddenly jump up onto the bed. For whatever reason their arms find their way around you, and they squeeze you tightly like you're their best friend or something.

Quickly, before you can think much about it, you retract away, pulling their hands away from you and saying harshly, "Get away from me."

At that, a sudden, oddly heartbroken look crosses their features. You'd feel bad if you were so damn confused right now.

Then they sign something to you. You don't know sign language, so you just stare back at them, blinking.

That seems to break them further, and they hop off the bed. Your eyes are focused on them, and at first you don't even notice the new figure having entered the room.

"(Y/N), it's--" they begin, in a raspy voice. "D-don't you..."

"Who are you?" you inquire incredulously. Why did they hug you...?

"You don't..." Their lip quivers, seeming to come to a realization. "You don't remember me."

"Remember you? I don't _know_ you."

You weren't meaning to sound so harsh--really, you weren't. You're tired, and upset, and your head hurts almost to the point where it pains you to even think. But somehow you've managed to make the child seem even more distressed.

"Who are you?" You repeat the question hoarsely, glancing up at the other person--a tall goat monster. "What do you want from me?"

The child lets out a sudden sob in response, then dashes back to the monster, burying their face into her robe.

Still, you just stare back without another word, as the monster looks at you with tears of her own in her eyes.

* * *

Papyrus himself is pacing, having not received another phone call from the former queen. She'd promised she'd get back to him once they reached your room, but that hasn't happened yet. He's starting to get even more concerned than before. What exactly happened to you...?

"Pap? what's wrong?"

He winces, then puts on a smile before facing his brother.

"NOTHING, SANS! EVERYTHING'S FINE!"

"it doesn't look like it."

He can tell Sans is very worried--the fact he's even out of his room at this time proves it.

But Toriel specifically said--

"WELL, IT IS!" Don't say anything. "I PROMISE!!"

"...you sure?"

Papyrus hesitates.

Sans knows something's wrong, and Papyrus knows he knows, but...

"SURELY SURE!"

His eye-lights are dim. He doesn't like it when his brother lies to him.

"what's going on." It's not a question.

"NOTHING--"

"Papyrus."

"BUT SANS, I--I CAN'T--"

"you can't what?"

"I CAN'T TELL YOU!!"

...Damn it.

Though it no longer matters, Papyrus snaps his jaw shut, vainly hoping he hadn't really said that.

But it's too late.

Sans's expression doesn't change. He still looks just as tired as always as he says, "tell me what?"

Don't. Don't say it.

Don't don't _don't_ \--

"(Y/N)'s been found."

His brother's hands clench--the only sign he's heard it.

Papyrus doesn't meet his gaze.

"She's alive."

When he looks up, his brother is gone.


	4. You Forget Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha
> 
> ~~even i wasn't ready~~

It's been a few minutes since your... Weird encounter with the two visitors in your hospital room. The monster had sent the child out to get something, presumably to keep them away from you with how distressed it made them. Things have been noticeably tense particularly between you and the monster, and you're not entirely sure if it's your fault or theirs. You're not sure you know anything anymore, as a matter of fact.

You... You remember your name, at least. That hasn't changed.

...And you remember something else.

A name.

Somebody else's name.

But whose?

You jump at the sound of a phone ringing, and it takes you a moment to realize it's the monster's; she removes it from a pocket in her robe, seeming to grimace, weirdly enough, as she reads the number.

She answers, saying a quiet, "Hello?"

_"where is she?"_

The monster steals a glance at you, increasing your bemusement. "Sans, hold on, there is--"

_"where is she."_

She swallows. She seems torn about something.

"We are at the hospital but--"

_"the one by you guys?"_

"Yes; however--"

_"thanks, be there in a few."_

"Sans!" she barks, suddenly.

_"...what?"_

"She..." She lets out a shuddering breath, mulling something over.

Then she adds, "Bring Papyrus, he should be here too."

_"fine."_

She ends the call and, without so much as a goodbye to you, she quickly heads out the hallway.

You're left alone once more.

* * *

True to his word, Sans reluctantly lets Papyrus drive them both, resisting the urge to just shortcut himself to the hospital itself and find you from there. However, he knows that would be rude on his part--and he knows how much Papyrus wants to see you, too. He hasn't been the only one missing you.

But still, he...

Gods. He can't believe his luck, you're...

You're back. You're actually _back_ , and you're okay.

...Well, maybe.

Maybe not entirely, but--but you're still _here_.

That's enough to make him have hope,

just a little.

* * *

You're fidgeting uneasily by the time the child returns, by themselves. Tear tracks are on their cheeks, and upon meeting your gaze, they quickly wipe them away, as though you might not notice.

You think you're shaking now, for more than one reason.

It's not that you don't _want_ to know these people. You just... Don't. And you're not sure why _they_ think they know _you_.

"I-I'm sorry," the child suddenly says to you, in their raspy, clearly unused voice. Simply for their benefit, you wish you did know sign language. They've resorted to sitting in one of the chairs, looking small. Almost hopeless.

"It's... Okay." You don't know what you can say to reassure them. You just don't like seeing someone so upset because of you. 

"I'm..." They pause. "My name is Frisk."

They look up at you, just for a second, looking like a kicked puppy. You smile, a bit forcefully, as you say, "Well, I'd introduce myself, but you seem to know me--for whatever reason."

They smile back a little, but it doesn't reach their eyes.

"Where..." they begin, fidgeting in their own seat. "...What _do_ you remember?"

Heh. They said that as if you're supposed to remember anything in the first place.

~~...Are you?~~

"I don't know," you say honestly. "Not much. All I remember is waking up here. I'm sorry."

Before they can respond, the monster from before walks back in, and the child rises to their feet, signing something at her. She sighs heavily, then answers them.

"They should be up soon. They are talking to the doctors right now."

Frisk, as they said their name was, looks down at their feet.

"...Does she still... Not remember anything?"

You shift, uncomfortable that they're talking about you. Frisk shakes their head.

The monster's brows furrow, and a deeper sadness seems to envelop her; then, she turns her gaze towards you, offering a small smile.

"I apologize, my dear. I have not meant to be so rude. My name is Toriel, and this is..."

"Frisk," you say, then add before she can seem too happy, "they told me."

"I see. Well..." Toriel fumbles with her paws for a moment. "There will be... Two others are coming to see you, and... They..."

"They know you, too," Frisk mumbles.

Oh. Great.

Well, that proves it: all of these people are either confused or insane.

What have you gotten yourself into?

You jump again as the door suddenly flings open once more, tensing as you see...

Two living skeletons.

What the--

"HUMAN (Y/N)?" the taller croaks. Oh, so these two know your name as well.

You grind your teeth together, filling the awkward silence with an even more awkward, "Um..."

"...it's you."

You freeze, realizing the other skeleton had spoken. And you find yourself unable to move under his gaze.

The room is suddenly very, suffocatingly quiet.

And he's just... Staring at you.

Like you're a ghost. Like you just came back from the dead. ~~Did you?~~

He takes a slight step forward, only to think twice about it. He moves back, running a shaky hand across his skull.

Then he laughs.

"it's--it's really you, i--"

"Sans," Toriel interrupts, uncertainly, but he doesn't seem to hear, stumbling backward again, looking unsteady on his feet.

You move back further on the bed apprehensively. The skeleton watches you do so closely, almost calculatingly, as though scared something might happen to you somehow.

"gods, i didn't..." His words come out jumbled, like he's stammering, but he doesn't look nervous; just relieved. Why...? "i thought i'd lost you--"

"What are you talking about?"

Your own voice seems to surprise you, and you shrink back, glancing at your shaking hands.

"I-I don't get it," you go on without thinking. "I don't..."

"Sans," you hear Toriel say again, and you think she's trying to stop him from doing something, but he takes a step closer. You shrink back again, and out of the corner of your eye you see him falter.

"...(Y/N)?" His voice is quieter now. More subdued. He knows something's up. "wh--baby, what's wrong--"

"Y-you don't know me," you choke out, "stop, just... Stop it."

He doesn't say anything, and you gather up the bed-sheets in your hands, squeezing them until your knuckles turn white.

"I don't know you," you say, voice crackling with anger, an anger that isn't fully anger. "I-I don't know any of you, I don't _get_ it--"

Frisk takes a tentative step towards you themselves, and somehow, it makes you feel even worse.

"Stop pretending you know me! What the Hell do you want, what do you have to gain from this--"

"(Y/N)," you hear Toriel say softly, how a mother might address her child. "It is okay, we..."

_"Get away from me!"_

Your eyes shut, and you don't look at them for a while, almost afraid of what you'd find in their expressions if you do.

You hadn't meant to yell.

You really hadn't, but...

You hear a door open and close a few seconds later, managing to fill you with further dread.

And when you finally do look up,

you find only Frisk.

Your throat tightens, and you bury your face in your hands, remaining silent even when you feel a small pair of arms wrap around your shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everybody keeps making like a tree wth


	5. Take a Moment and

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, everybody is upset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here have another, because i have a serious problem and therefore i am on a roll
> 
> also, thank you so so much for all the wonderful comments and kudos and just, everything haha, it means the world to me!! i'm so glad you guys are liking it so far, i'll try my best to make it live up to your expectations lmbo

No.

No, no, no no no this can't be happening--

Maybe it's just a fluke--heh, maybe you're messing with him--you used to do that sometimes, you like joking around and--surely you're just...

...Are you, though?

You... You wouldn't joke about something like that, right?

You... Wouldn't be that cruel, would you?

But, what else are you doing, you have to remember, you remember _him_ , don't you?

...

...Don't you?

Oh, who is he kidding. He's not ~~entirely~~ an idiot.

He can tell.

You were terrified--of him. Of everyone. You'd thought _he'd_ been lying. For whatever, unholy reason, you don't know any of them.

You... Don't know him.

Not anymore.

...Heh.

Just his luck.

He finally got you back, and you don't even remember him.

_Just his damn luck._

He doesn't even know where he is right now. Probably his bed in his room, if the way-too-soft object beneath him is anything to go by.

He laughs again, borderline deranged, burying his head in his hands as he curses over and over again.

Despite everything, he hopes you can forgive him.

* * *

"I'm sorry," you say, for what seems like the hundredth time to Frisk. "I-I just--I don't know what's going on, and..."

"Are you sure you don't remember anything? About what happened to you?" You've stopped crying for the most part, so they're no longer hugging you but sitting on your bed rather, ignoring the instructions of the nurse from before, who had told them to leave you alone. But oddly enough, they're easy to talk to, and you find yourself not minding their presence as much.

You shake your head, instinctively wiping at your eyes once more. "I just remember waking up here," you reiterate. You hesitate, before asking your question. "Who were those two?" They look at you questioningly, so you add, "The skeletons," and their face falls. Their hands twitch, as though automatically wanting to sign something, only to remember you won't be able to understand.

"My friends," they say, finally.

"How..." You swallow. "How do they think they know me?"

They look away, appearing uncomfortable. "Papyrus--he's, um, the tall one--is your friend."

You don't correct them. "And the other?"

They fidget. After what seems like a minute's pause, you almost don't expect them to answer, until they mutter something under their breath.

"What?"

They mutter it again, louder but still indecipherable. You ask them to repeat it.

"...Husband."

And your head starts hurting again.

* * *

"I swear, I'm going to kick down his freakin'--"

"U-Undyne, p-please..."

"I'M SERIOUS, WHAT THE HELL?!"

Papyrus sighs, almost regretting having called them and telling them everything--sure, he'd known she would be upset, but...

"I KNOW THIS IS VERY TROUBLING FOR ALL OF US, BUT YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN," he states.

"Well, what else are we supposed to do?" she snaps, clenching her fists, more frustrated than anything. "If you leave him in there he's just going to retreat into himself again, you know that, right?"

"...YES. I KNOW." 

"Then why--"

"HE NEEDS TIME."

She stops, staring at him. Alphys looks at him out of the corner of her own eyes, shuffling slightly in place.

"...How much time?" Undyne inquires.

"I... I DON'T KNOW. JUST... TIME."

For now, they'll leave it at that.

Sans isn't coming out of his room. It's like you've disappeared all over again. ~~Though, Papyrus supposes you have, in a way.~~

He wants to say that again, that he just needs more time. And maybe he does, maybe that's the answer.

Maybe that's all he needs.

But it hasn't even been a full day since Undyne and Alphys came over, and he's still worried.

What if time is the exact opposite of what Sans needs right now?

Either way, he's not going to stand around to find out.

He tries the door--it's not locked this time--and, mirroring Frisk earlier in the week, he slowly makes his way into the dark room, hesitating upon reaching the bed.

"...Sans?"

"you don't need to say anything."

Papyrus blinks, a bit confused; what is he talking about?

"don't need a pep talk," his brother continues on gruffly, from somewhere under his mass of sheets. "'ve gotten enough of them already."

"Um... Sorry?"

"no. i'm sorry."

Okay, now Papyrus is just confused. "Brother, I will be honest: I have no idea what you are going on about."

From the darkness Sans chuckles, merely furthering the other skeleton's bewilderment; but before he can say anything else he hears shifting, and suddenly, Sans is in front of him.

"...Um?"

"thought it over."

"Sans, seriously, I have no clue what you're--"

"i'm not gonna mope about it."

Papyrus stops, a bit of realization slowly dawning on him.

"Okay, well... What _are_ you going to do?" he asks--not entirely sure why he _is_ asking, but...

Sans rubs at his eyes; a sign he's been crying.

And yet, the edges of his grin turn up, like he's smiling for real.

"nothing."

"...What?"

"she doesn't remember me, so..."

He chuckles again, a bit too genuinely, for Papyrus's liking.

"what's the point?"

Papyrus takes a shaky step backwards.

Granted, he wasn't really expecting something in particular to happen, or something in particular for Sans to do now that you have no recollection of your old life; in all honesty, Papyrus isn't sure _what_ he'd been expecting exactly, upon talking to Sans about this. 

...But him giving up on you isn't something he would have ever considered.


	6. Hold It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You seem to remember something, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jumping to conclusions is never good--

When you wake up, you're not in the hospital anymore--instead, you're in a field of flowers. Bright, golden flowers, stretching as far as you can see, for miles and miles.

An odd feeling of nostalgia washes over you, like you know this place. You've been here before, somehow.

But how...?

Your legs suddenly seem to have a mind of their own as you're carried to your feet. You glance around, everything seeming the same visually; but then you hear a voice.

 _Follow me,_ it says.

You see a figure in the distance, far across the field from you.

Then you wake up in the hospital, with only one thing on your mind; only one fact you know in your new, hellish life:

You remember that figure.

You're nervous--quite a bit more than usual, really. You don't know if it has to do with the weird dream you had last night, or maybe the fact somebody else other than Frisk is apparently coming to see you today; in this strange current world of yours, not knowing anybody and being terrified of almost everything you've seen, they've been the only saving grace, being patient with you, and not complaining about the fact you "don't remember." Sure, you can tell they're upset about it--sometimes they look close to crying, even, especially when that topic comes up in the first place.

But it doesn't feel like they're judging you, or trying to force you to remember anything. Toriel has been kind to you, and Alphys and Undyne, you recall, have come to see you once or twice. They were nice enough too, despite Undyne's rash nature in particular--but you know they're upset with you, in a way. You don't really blame anyone--they seem genuinely to believe they knew you--but it's... Difficult, pretending you're not at least a little frustrated or irritated.

Papyrus hasn't come back since the first time he saw you, however. At this point you're certain it's because he just doesn't want to see you again; and you're also pretty certain you know why. I mean, he's apparently brothers with a guy who supposedly used to be married to you--which you're still trying to wrap your brain around, for the record. Based on that you highly doubt he'd be willing to visit you like the others.

So when the door to your room opens and you see said taller skeleton himself, you're a bit taken off-guard.

"UM... HELLO," is all he says, at first. When you don't respond, his attitude somehow seems to deflate further. "I AM SORRY TO BOTHER YOU, HUMAN (Y/N), I CAN... LEAVE."

"No, it's... It's fine."

Well, at least he's looking a bit reassured after that. He makes his way into the room, almost hesitantly, but doesn't sit down, instead shuffling in place and not quite meeting your gaze.

"Where's, um..." You fumble with your hands. "...Your brother?"

"HE'S AT HOME. SLEEPING."

It's now 3 in the afternoon, so you raise an eyebrow.

"I CAME TO SEE YOU, AS I... I KNOW WE PROBABLY GOT OFF ON THE WRONG FOOT," he goes on, less than confidently, which bothers you, somehow.

"I thought you hated me," you blurt out, before you can stop yourself; his eyes(ockets?) widen almost immediately.

"N-NO, NOT AT ALL!! I JUST--I WAS..." He seems to search for the correct words, "SANS WAS UPSET, HE WASN'T TAKING IT VERY WELL SO I..."

...Right. And that's your fault, isn't it?

"NO, OF COURSE NOT!!" Oh, did you say that out loud? "IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT AT ALL, THIS IS JUST--IT'S VERY UPSETTING FOR EVERYONE, I'M SORRY IF I--I DIDN'T MEAN TO--"

"No, it's okay," you interrupt quickly, spotting what looks like tears in his eyes, "I just--I'm sorry, I'm new to this, I don't..."

"NO, THAT'S... FINE."

...Well, this is awkward.

At least he is being nicer than you expected--he doesn't _seem_ to have any hard feelings towards you.

But what of...

"Is he mad at me?" you inquire quietly.

It'd only make sense, after all. Even if you don't understand why, everyone else seems to want to avoid you, when they don't think you're paying attention.

Papyrus blinks, almost in disbelief at the mere idea.

"OF COURSE NOT, HE'S JUST..."

...What?

What else would he be?

You shrink back into the covers, your hair falling into your face like a curtain as you mumble, "Well, um... Thanks for coming."

You leave it at that, mainly because you don't know what else to do--apologize? What should you apologize _for_? Apologize to a guy you don't even know, a guy who for some reason has the idea you were in a relationship with him?

Pfft. You'll be surprised if neither of them is mad at you after this.

Whoever they think they were friends with is gone now, that's for sure.

* * *

Dinner is quiet that night. The fact Sans hasn't said much this week anyway should have given him a clue, but it still bothers Papyrus.

"YOU NEED TO EAT," he says, for the third time. "YOU'LL FEEL BETTER," he tries again.

Sans's soul sure is talkative tonight, at least. And it's telling him he'd rather not feel better.

"I DON'T CARE, _I_ WANT YOU TO FEEL BETTER."

 _ok,_ his soul says back. With that Papyrus jumps to his feet, obviously done with the silent treatment.

"I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS!! YOU'RE CLEARLY NOT OKAY!"

"so?" Sans mumbles, finally, but his brother is far from satisfied.

"SO I'M GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

He laughs, his signature response to everything if he doesn't know what else to do. "what?"

"YOU NEED TO TALK TO HER!!"

At that, Sans's eye-lights dart away from him, settling on the massively interesting carpet beneath his feet. "...y'know," he says, "i think 'm just gonna head off to--"

"DO NOT DODGE ME, SANS! I'M SERIOUS!!"

"...how?"

" _HOW_?" Papyrus repeats, narrowing his eyes as he puts his hands on his hips. "THAT DOESN'T EVEN--WHY WOULD I _NOT_ BE SE--"

"no." His voice is quiet. "how do you figure i do that."

Papyrus stops. His hands move themselves to his sides instead, and he stops glaring.

"how am i s'posed to talk to her," Sans goes on, "how do you suppose i do that, Papyrus?"

"...JUST... VISIT HER. I TALKED TO HER TODAY, SHE'S NOT OPPOSED TO--"

"not opposed to you."

His phalanges dig into the wood, to the point where it must hurt.

"she thinks 'm insane."

"NO--"

"do you honestly think she believes any of us?"

Papyrus opens and closes his mouth. I mean, sure, you'd been _kind_ _of_ standoffish at first--you didn't _look_ like you trusted them but... "SHE JUST NEEDS TIME, I--"

"is that your response to everything?"

...What?

Before he can think up an answer Sans pushes himself out of his own chair, beginning to shuffle towards the stairs.

"SANS, WAIT..."

"i'm sorry." He glances back, but doesn't quite look at him entirely. "i'm... i'm really sorry, i didn't mean to..."

He lets out a breath that is much too shaky.

"i-i just don't... i don't know what to do."

Papyrus makes his way over; Sans hardly moves when he's enveloped in a hug, either not truly realizing or just not caring.

"i d-don't know what to do," he chokes, the dam breaking, after all this time. "gods, i--i do want to talk to her but that's--that's selfish and--"

"IT'S OKAY, BROTHER."

"and i-i want her to be happy, but i..."

He doesn't finish. Instead, his soul does it for him, crying out:

_i don't want to lose her again._

...But you probably don't even want to see him.

* * *

You can't fall asleep that night, too many thoughts on your mind. The last time you had slept resulted in... Whatever that had been. So you're a bit apprehensive about getting rest.

Something... There's something else that's bothering you about it.

You still remember the figure, even now.

More so, you remember the voice, and that place.

You remember a specific person.

...

And when you wake up the next day, you know who it is--for your soul tells you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, sorry for not including Alphys and Undyne much, a lot of interactions with them are off-screen--but they'll come back soon, i promise!
> 
> and hey, for more feels, listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huCSle_6Nyg), it really describes everybody's relationship with Reader :)


	7. (Don't) Give Up?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus takes matters into his own hands... More or less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that thing about not jumping to conclusions
> 
> well, this would be a nice example of that

"Where is she?" you ask the new nurse that day, having finally worked up the courage; as expected, she gives you a confused look.

"Who?"

Oh boy, how to word this... "Um, I think... I have a sister?" you say, ending up sounding less sure of yourself than you were initially aiming to.

“...What?”

Unable to stop yourself you chuckle nervously, stammering, “W-well, I—”

Clearly unused to you and the way you handle things, the nurse deadpans. “Miss (Y/N), I am fairly certain you never had a sister.”

Well, how can she know, she’s not you.

...Hold on.

How can _you_ know?

You are literally basing this off a dream and some stupid intuition of yours. Geez.

Maybe you’re crazier than you thought and those monsters are on to something.

“Thanks anyway,” you mumble, ignoring the irritation bubbling up within you when you hear her snort and shut the door behind her as she heads out.

* * *

Sans... Does not like the way Papyrus seems to be analyzing his every move today.

This morning had started out relatively “good,” everything considered. He didn’t come down until, mmm... About noon. And that was simply because he knew he probably should get up—not because he wanted to.

Papyrus had brought up how he’d visited you again in the hospital; no problem still, but then Sans had made one teeny tiny mistake on his part:

“is she, uh...” He shuffled his feet. “...is she... doing okay?”

“WELL, YOU COULD ASK HER THAT YOURSELF.”

And thus has started an unspoken argument between them of whether or not he should really go see you.

* * *

Naturally, Papyrus is not a quitter. Sans more or less... Is.

Plus he knows his brother is starting to wear thin. Normally he’d see that as a bad thing but in this case it’s good—because finally, he can crack and just _talk to you,_ for stars’ sake. He has half the mind to just take him over there himself; even if things aren’t the same, you two should at least try to resolve something, right?

...Maybe he _will_ take him over there himself.

I mean, really, the idea is foolproof. After all, he’s dealt with your guys’ relationship troubles before, he certainly knows how to handle it.

* * *

Somehow, after all this time (a little more than a week), nobody has managed to find your phone.

Granted, you’re not necessarily glued to technology like most people—at least, you don’t remember if you were? But speaking of not remembering, having a phone to document your past experiences would be _pretty_ nice right about now.

Maybe you have your sister’s number in there...?

Well, if you have a sister, for that matter. You’re still not sure.

...Yeah, you’re probably crazy.

Even so, you still wish you had your phone.

~~While a part of you wonders why you seems to automatically know you did have one.~~

The door opens and Mrs. Richards, the first nurse you’d seen since you woke up here, peeks her head in, looking a bit frazzled. “Um, Miss (Y/N)...?”

“Yes?” you prompt, more alert now—and somewhat nervous.

“Those skeletons would like to see you again.”

...Both of them?

That... Doesn’t sound right.

“Should I bring them in?” Her voice interrupts your conflicted thoughts, and you try to shake your unease off.

“Um, sure.”

She disappears again; you hold your breath, relax a bit when Papyrus comes in, then tense up again when the other skeleton trudges after him. He purposely avoids your gaze, even when his brother says, “SANS, IT’S FINE, I’M SURE SHE WON’T JUDGE YOU!!”

Uh...?

“Hello?” you greet, less friendly and more perplexed. Why had _he_ come to see you? Shouldn’t he be mad...?

“HELLO, (Y/N)!” Papyrus is looking at you, at least—and smiling. Sure, Sans has a permanent grin but you get the feeling it’s fake, particularly now.

The taller pauses, turns to glare at his brother, then elbows him; Sans jolts before glancing up at you, the lights in his eyes shaky and faint.

“u-uh... h-hey...”

“*SIGH* WELL, THAT’S A START.”

“Um...” Papyrus perks up as you start speaking again, “Can... Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

“OH, OF COURSE! YOU SEE, MY BROTHER HAS REALLY BEEN WANTING TO SEE YOU BUT HE’S—”

“Pap, please.”

“BROTHER, DO NOT INTERRUPT ME PLEASE, I—”

“i already told you.” His voice is trembling. “i-i can’t be here. she’s...”

...Oh?

“AND _I_ ,” Papyrus tells him, slowly, “ALREADY TOLD YOU—”

“No.”

This time, both of them turn to you. This time, you’re the one that avoids their gazes.

Papyrus seems to catch on.

“(Y/N), THAT’S NOT—”

“No, I get it. He doesn’t want to be here, right?”

Because you don’t remember him. Because you’ve somehow messed up, in not doing so.

“You can leave. It’s fine.”

It is. It really is; after all, you don’t know them, either.

You can feel Sans staring at you. Searching for an answer, almost.

You don’t care. You want them to go.

According to them you can’t do anything right, even if it’s not in your control.

“...OKAY. WE’LL LEAVE.”

You don’t look up.

“LET’S GO, BROTHER.”

As though recalling last time, when you looked up and everyone was gone, you do the opposite of your past self and quickly glance towards the door before they’re out.

Just as you do, Sans meets your gaze.

You merely blink back at him, unable to say much else.

And you watch him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate summary: Sans gets his heart broken by you all over again because both of you are clueless and kind of dumb
> 
> ~~it just keeps getting worse and i'm sorry~~


	8. Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pep talks are given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, sorry to reiterate and possibly annoy but thank you for the support on this fic! that's part of what inspires me to write, so seriously, thank you so much!!
> 
> anyway, as my further thank you, have more angst to break your heart! :')

Honestly, despite everything he has been through, Sans might consider this the worst day of his life—and that's saying a lot. If someone had asked him before about it, his answer would have been easy: the day he’d lost you. Second contender would be the day he found out about the resets.

But this... This takes the cake. He really thinks it does, because at least back then, he could have lived with himself knowing Frisk had just a sliver of good intention in them from what he knew; at least then, he could have live knowing you’d wanted him to live, even if you were gone. He could live knowing you loved him with all your heart—with all your soul.

But you don’t.

You’re back. You’re not dead. But you hate him; he knows you do, based on how you’d told him so bluntly to leave—how you looked at him like he’d crawled out of the deepest pit of Hell, like you’d never seen him before in your life and you never wanted to see him again.

No. You don’t love him. He’s not sure you ever will again. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get you back, ever feel your touch again.

And, perhaps the worst part of it?

He doesn’t blame you.

* * *

“(Y/N)?”

Even upon hearing Frisk’s soft, barely inaudible voice, you’re not cheered up very much. Something about that encounter with Sans earlier has almost been... Tearing you up inside. You feel a sort of guilt that you can’t quite understand. Did you make a mistake? Had you misread something...?

“Frisk,” you manage after a moment, after they’ve crawled onto your bed. Their frown deepens, your voice too croaky for their liking. “Am I doing the right thing?”

They pause, eyes squinting slightly. “What do you mean?” they ask.

“I... I’m not handling this well, am I?”

The child purses their lips; in any other case, you would have laughed at their “thoughtful” expression. “...I don’t see how,” they mumble, after a moment, scratching at one of their pant legs. You cock your head a bit.

“Okay, now what do _you_ mean?”

“I don’t see why there should be a ‘good’ way to handle all this,” they explain, “we’re between a rock and a hard place, aren’t we?”

“...I guess, but...”

Suddenly, they click their tongue, as something seems to (heh) click in their mind. They tell you, “They’re not mad at you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shift, the blankets shifting with you. You remain silent.

“They might be upset,” they go on quietly, “maybe even a little hurt. But they’re not mad.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know them. More than anyone else.”

For some reason, your vision blurs—you don’t think you’re going to cry, but... “I just feel like... I’m letting them down. It’s silly,” you add quickly with a little laugh, going to rub at your eyes with the heel of your palm, “I don’t even know them, or remember them, I guess, but...”

“They tend to do that to you,” they say, and you see them smile, in an almost nostalgic way.

“Yeah, apparently, heh...”

“And hey.” You look at them as you wait for them to say their next piece. “You don’t have to know what to do yet, if that makes any sense. They do understand, I promise—it’s just hard for them.”

You just nod; you feel a bit better, now. “Thanks,” you say, smiling back.

In response, they throw their tiny arms around you in a brief hug. This time, with only a bit of hesitance, you hug back.

* * *

“SHE DOESN’T HATE YOU,” he says, again, trying to reassure him _again_.

“then what was that?”

“SHE’S JUST PROBABLY SCARED, AND...”

“of me.”

“NO!”

Sans shakes his head, running a skull over it as he sighs. “look, Paps—it’s no use. you tried, okay?”

“IT’S NOT—” he starts, but his brother looks away from him, obviously not going to believe his argument.

“i tried. and i was right, she just doesn’t want to see me.” _maybe that’s for the best, too._

“IT IS _NOT_ FOR THE BEST,” Papyrus shoots back, glaring slightly at him as Sans’s soul tries to block him out. “THIS NEEDS RESOLVING—”

“well, what is there to resolve?” Sans laughs, bitterly.

“SOMETHING JUST ISN’T RIGHT, SHE’S NOT _MAD_ AT YOU, I KNOW SHE CAN’T BE. I DON’T CARE WHETHER OR NOT SHE STILL LOVES YOU, THAT’S NOT WHAT I’M WORRIED ABOUT; YOU’RE JUST NOT GIVING IT A CHANCE, BROTHER.”

“a chance?” he cuts in. “what sort of _chance_? she made it clear she doesn’t want me near her—”

“THAT ISN’T TRUE!”

His eyes narrow, “then what is, Papyrus? why would she be acting like that, why would she look at me like that if she doesn’t hate me?”

“BECAUSE SHE THINKS YOU HATE _HER_!”

Not looking directly at him, Papyrus huffs, propping his hands on his hips. “DO I REALLY HAVE TO MAKE IT THAT CLEAR FOR YOU? DO YOU KNOW HOW FRUSTRATING THIS HAS BEEN? I _KNOW_ NEITHER OF YOU HATE EACH OTHER, BUT YOU’RE CONVINCED THE OTHER DOES! IN FACT, _YOU_ DON’T WANT TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE BECAUSE YOU _CAN’T_ THINK OTHERWISE, AND YOU’RE JUST AS SCARED AS UPSETTING HER AS SHE IS YOU!! WHY DO YOU THINK SHE REACTED LIKE THAT WHEN SHE SAW YOU WERE UNSURE OF BEING THERE?”

“...i just...”

“SHE THOUGHT YOU’D SHUN HER, SANS!”

“i-I’d never—”

“I KNOW YOU WOULDN’T BUT DOES SHE?” he concludes, finally, staring down at his brother intently.

Sans just looks away again, the void in his eyes getting darker by the second as the lights dim. “...i... i wasn’t...” Oh my gods, what has he _done_? “i—n-now i probably _made_ her hate me—”

He starts shaking, even as Papyrus puts his hands on his shoulders to try to steady him. “BROTHER,” Papyrus begins calmly, “AT THE END OF THE DAY, IT DOESN’T MATTER WHO’S MAD AT WHO, OR WHO _SEEMS_ TO HATE WHO. YOU NEED TO STOP AVOIDING HER.”

Sans just nods, his whole body seeming to nod with him, and he lets out a shuddering breath as he wipes away the gathering tears in his vision. “i-i know, i’m... i’m just so scared, i...”

“YOU LOVE HER, DON’T YOU?”

Sans chokes out a, “more than anything,” his voice cracking.

“THEN PROVE IT.”

“h-how?”

“BE THERE FOR HER.”

He barks out a soft, broken laugh, before it turns into a sob. Papyrus pulls him into an embrace, rubbing comforting circles into his back as Sans buries his face into his brother’s chest, tremors continuing to make their course through his body.

Maybe things will never be the same. Maybe you’ll never truly be happy, at least not with him, but...

But maybe it’s okay. Maybe it’s okay if you never smile at him again; maybe it’s okay if you end up hating him after all.

It’s okay because for you, he’ll do anything.

It’s okay, because Sans loves you.

...And that will never change.


	9. Let's Start Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Sans introduce yourselves properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the definition of bittersweet, really
> 
> and seriously, if you want a love story that's just as sad if not sadder than this, go listen to Hadestown, it's so great and awesome but it will b r e a k you

As they head out the door, Frisk leaves it open a bit, knowing the nurses will come to check on you again soon. At least you're doing well in that regard; they hope you'd remember everything, but they also know it's not up to you.

Maybe... Maybe this can be a good thing.

You can still learn to care about them, right?

And Sans...?

"uh, kiddo?"

Frisk leaps a good few inches into the air, spinning around to meet the questioning gaze of the skeleton they'd just been thinking about. "you okay?" he goes on, his eye-lights... Weirdly hazy.

They nod, signing, _You just startled me, that's all._

"oh."

Yeah...

Sans glances down at his slippers, looking uncertain. Looking lost.

Frowning, they tap his shoulder gently, making his eyesockets fall on them again. _Are **you** okay?_

The skeletons lets out what’s supposed to be a laugh, but they’re not so convinced, even when he forces a grin. “’m fine.”

 _No,_ they say, after pausing. _You’re not._

His grin starts slipping.

_And you don’t have to be, I know how much—_

“i’m fine.”

They stop, and gaze after him blankly as he starts past them towards your room. They go to tap his shoulder again, hesitate, and pull back, only for him to turn around.

“seriously, kid,” he mutters, giving them another forceful grin—this one more obvious in fakeness, and more tired than the last. “don’t worry about me.”

Their frown somehow deepens even more, as they watch him push the door open and close it behind him.

* * *

Whoever you were expecting to see after Frisk left, certainly wasn’t... Him.

Why is he back? Doesn’t he hate you?

“...hi.”

Did he just... Talk to you?

You glance away, mumbling out a quiet “Hi,” in response. You don’t know why, but his eyes look sadder than usual. You assume he’s going to say something less than nice to you, but—

“i’m sorry.”

Your own eyes turn back to him, and his permanent smile looks like it’s about to fall completely. “Huh?” you manage, dumbly.

He lets out a short “heh,” looking almost amused, but—not quite. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his sockets flicking to his slippers, going on quietly, “i’m sorry for... bein’ so flighty. i know you’re not...” He lets in a shaky breath. “i know you don’t remember me, and i know it’s not your fault. i’m sorry for making it seem like it was.”

You blink at him. He seems to be waiting for your response.

“...I’m... Sorry, too.”

He seems to jump. “it’s not your—”

“No, I’m sorry for...” You get it now. “Making it seem like I hated you. Isn’t that why you were afraid to come?”

Sans glances away from you. “...yeah.”

“I don’t... Think it’s anyone’s fault here,” you continue, tentatively, pretty much just voicing your thoughts aloud. “I mean, I don’t—I don’t think I’ll really ever understand why, um... Why all of you think you knew me, but...”

“we did know you.”

His voice cracks, and he’s looking at you again, his expression hurt; not blaming you, seemingly, but... Hurt all the same. “i... i know, i know you don’t remember but, i...”

“You think you care about me.”

“i _do_.”

Even now, you’re... Not so convinced.

If you really knew him; if he really cared... Wouldn’t you remember...?

...But then, why don’t you remember _anything_?

Who _are_ you?

Were these people really your—

“you okay?”

You must have been shaking hard enough for him to notice. Great.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, noting the way he’d asked you, his voice softer than usual; sounding more concerned than before. He obviously doesn’t believe you, but he seems more upset about it than he should.

...None of this makes any sense.

“can...” You stare back at him, as he stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. “can we just... start over?”

You study him for a moment, the sweat beading on his skull, and the fuzzy, dim lights in his eyesockets.

“I guess,” you say, sounding less sure of yourself than you were intending. But something like pained relief spreads through the skeleton.

Then, he grins broadly at you—almost convincingly enough that you want to grin back. “right. well, i’m sans.”

“I’m (Y/N),” you respond.

“nice to meet ya,” he says, hesitating; asking a silent question, almost.

You don’t say anything, but he seems to pick up on your unspoken response.

He comes over to take your hand officially, his grip on your hand gentle, his grin softening as he meets your gaze. You shake his hand in return, as awkward as the situation is, and add, “Nice to meet you too, Sans.”

And you do smile, just a little...

And his eye-lights brighten, just a little.


	10. D o n ' t  F o r g e t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [REDACTED]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =)

You wake up to what you think is the real world; you seem to be in the same hospital you’ve been in for the past week or so. Or has it been more than one week?

You... Forget.

Your hand rubs over your forehead, as though trying to rub away the sudden headache you feel. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately, it seems. Granted, you know you’ve had a head injury—that was one of the main reasons you’re still here. They want to make sure nothing “else” is wrong before releasing you.

But, this pain is... Different. More fuzzy. Less sudden and piercing, but rather, consistent and dull.

After contemplating it you rise to your feet, the sheets falling into a heap at your feet while you do so. You step over them easily, only to pause, glancing up at the ceiling.

You swear you saw the lights flicker just now, but...

Maybe you’re just overthinking. ~~You tend to do that a lot, right?~~

You make your way to the door, which just so happens to be open, and peer out. The lights are even dimmer out there; it unsettles you, though you’re not sure why.

And then they flicker. You know you’re not imagining it now.

_(Y/N)..._

You shiver. Something feels like it’s crawling up your back, but when you try to feel for it, you just feel you.

You look around for the voice. You see nothing. Just darkness.

Creeping out into the hallway, you see the lights flicker once more, even going so far as to turn off for a second or two.

_(Y/N)._

You whip around. You see something, for just a moment. Then it’s gone.

You look in front of you again.

There’s a figure standing at the end of the hallway.

Your name is called again, through that faded, soft whisper.

It’s behind you.

The lights start flashing, on and off rapidly, and you collapse to your knees.

* *

_A memory._

You were in a field of golden flowers again. Somebody was there with you, but who...? You didn’t see anyone.

You called out for them, to see where they were.

But nobody came.

_Do you remember?_

...No.

You don’t.

* *

Tears streaked on your face. Your legs were burning. You felt like you were in an inferno, but no fire coated your body. You were in another field, near the forest. You’d been running.

Something sparked at your fingertips.

_Do you remember?_

_No,_ you say.

* *

Snow.

All you saw was snow, and trees, and snow-covered trees.

It was so cold. So very cold, and your legs stung. Your fingers felt numb.

Golden light leaked in through the forest, suddenly.

It was familiar.

_Do you remember?_

_No._

* *

The stars were shining brightly that night. You were sitting in a chair, on a deck. Not in a forest. Another field. Beneath the sky.

Somebody was there with you.

But your gaze was focused on the stars.

You’d made a wish once, for yourself. And a promise, for someone.

_Do you remember?_

_...No._

* *

White. White was around you. You were dressed in white.

You were supposed to be doing something. Saying something. Looking at someone.

But you’re glancing away, now.

You see them in the corner of your eye.

They seem happy, but...

Are they? Really?

_Do you remember?_

_...Not now._

* *

The screeching in your head stops. It’s brighter now. Calm. Sunlight filters through the field, seemingly turning the golden flowers into real gold with its light.

You look up with blurry vision, at them. At the child in front of you.

Your friend.

_You remember._

* *

But now you’ve awoken.

And you’ve forgotten again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the short vastly-weird chapter!! it's kind of just an interlude to what's to come--it's still important obviously~


	11. Dilemmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get to leave the hospital!
> 
> ...But that brings up new issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAA
> 
> thanks for over 1000 hits that means a lot to me, eeee
> 
> ok before i get too more cringy, have this lol

You want to feel happy. You want to be relieved.

But you just can't find it in you.

Your soul is feeling the opposite of what you should be feeling, probably.

Then again, though,

in your situation, you’d doubt you’d be happy anyway.

With everything you’ve learned, you don’t think you can be.

...Not now.

Still, when Mrs. Richards helps you pack up what little you have and double checks you’re ready to go, you pretend to be all smiles—and part of it is genuine, to your credit. She’s been a more constant nurse when it comes to your needs, usually the go-to person to help you, as well as supporting you without fuss and being overall pleasant and patient. Oddly enough, she seems to know your “friends” too (and by default, you?), so part of you wonders why she’s not as upset as them when it comes to your new dilemma.

...Eh, it’s not your job to question.

As you’re about to leave, you glance around the room you’ve spent most of your days in; basically, the only place you’re used to. It’s... Kind of weird. It’s far from a home for you, but you didn’t see yourself leaving it so soon like this.

Speaking of which...

After checking out officially at the front desk, a former doctor of yours hands you a bag. “There’s a few medications in there that should help you,” he says. “Only take them when absolutely necessary; that being if you’re in pain or your head might feel fuzzy. If it gets worse and they don’t seem to be working, at that point you need to call emergency hotlines again.”

You just nod in response, a bit absentmindedly, almost. Clearly you’re not really thinking about that right at this moment; more so, where you’ll be going now. You presumably have no money, no phone, no way of contacting anyone—anyone you know, at least.

Just then, the doors open, and...

“(Y/N), wait!”

You startle, trying to comprehend at first why you’d heard somebody call your name. You turn around, and see none other than Toriel and Frisk, hurrying towards you.

“Oops,” you hear Mrs. Richards say to herself quietly, only confusing you further.

As per their usual greeting Frisk gives you a brief hug, before pulling away and giving aforementioned nurse a slight glare. They sign something to her, and you see her smile sheepishly at them.

“Right, um...” She goes to address you, “I forgot, they wanted me to wait to help you out until they arrived.”

...?

Your bewildered gaze falls on Toriel next, and she merely looks apologetic. “I am sorry for springing this up on you so suddenly, (Y/N), but we realized you might not have a place to go at the moment.”

“What?” is all you can manage, after a pause of pure silence on their part.

Frisk simply grins up at you in response, announcing, “It was my idea!”

You repeat a small, “What?” while Toriel gives her child a partially amused look.

“We would like you to stay with us,” she explains, with a small but warm smile, and Frisk nods fervently.

You open your mouth, then close it. Then open it again. You know you probably look akin to that of a fish, but right now, you’re just kind of... Not processing, entirely.

“I can’t possibly do that,” you get out finally, your throat tightening on your words halfway through. You keep going either way, letting your thoughts spill out into words, “I-I wouldn’t want to... Impose on anyone, and...”

You feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, and meet Toriel’s reassuring eyes. “You would never impose on us, my dear,” she says softly, and you have a feeling she means it.

You look down at Frisk, and they seem just as earnest.

“But I... What can I give you in return?” you ask, a bit lost at the prospect.

You have nothing. Literally nothing—how can you possibly repay them?

“We don’t need anything,” Frisk pipes up. “We just want to help you.”

...Gods, you... You don’t even know these people...

Why are they being... So nice to you?

A small, choked-up laugh interrupts the quiet, and it takes you a moment to realize it’s you who’s laughing. You dig the heel of your palm into your eyes, trying to wipe away the sudden tears as your voice cracks out a, “Th-thank you.”

Frisk hugs you again, and all you can do is hug them back—still not entirely believing your luck.

* * *

As you drive back with them to their house, a name keeps coming to your mind, there but still too far to grasp it. You don’t remember much of your most recent dream—but you wonder if it has to do with that, and first dream you had too.

Maybe it has to do with your sister.

...If you have one.

Only your soul seems to be telling you so; and you’re not sure why you even recall having a soul to begin with. You didn’t remember monsters existed, nor about magic existing in the first place; that’d only been explained to you recently, sometime within the past few days. You wonder if Frisk maybe did tell you about souls too, and you just can’t remember. ~~Like you can’t remember everything else.~~

At some point, you do want to look deeper into all of this. Not only because you want more info on the subject, but...

Even if you don’t recall any of this... There’s an underlying familiarity to it all.

And right now,

familiarity is something you’re craving.

You set down your medication bag on the bedside table, turning back to Toriel.

“Thanks again,” you say, giving her a genuine smile. She matches your smile, folding her hands in front of her.

“Of course.” She pauses, and she thinks there’s something else she wants to say. Something sentimental towards you. But she seems to decide against it, shaking her head slightly, her smile returning: “If you need anything, please do let us know. We will be glad to help as best we can.”

You shrug nonchalantly, but acknowledge her words with a nod. You do want to start a schedule for different things: like finding a job, so you can go to the store and buy some essentials for yourself. That’s for another day, though.

Quietly, you watch her leave through the door, shutting it just a crack; then you go over to the guest bed, sitting yourself down and glancing around the room almost inquisitively.

After you’re done roving, you let out a small sigh, and lean back on the pillow in a sort of careful way, as though to not mess up anything—even though it’s just a bed.

More than ever, you feel guilty. These people have been nothing but kind to you, treating you as if you’re a long-time friend; and according to them, you are. You have the feeling that even if you were a stranger, they’d still treat you almost the same.

It’s... Getting to you. Especially now that you’re here, in this guest bedroom alone, with no distractions from your thoughts. Even in the hospital, you had some sort of thing to focus on, but now...

Now, there’s nothing.

And you have nothing for them. No money. No food, or some sort of value you can give them. Even if you do get a job later down the line, what is to happen now? You’re just... Taking advantage of them. Aren’t you?

You don’t even know who you are, in the general scheme of things.

They’d said you’d forgotten everything, by way of a head injury.

But how...?

Suddenly, something else comes to mind:

You have no money.

Literally _none_.

You shoot up to a sitting position again, a sudden mixture of alarm and some type of utter puzzlement taking hold of your brain.

Why were you released from the hospital so easily? Why didn't they bring that topic up? What about the medical bill??

_What the Hell happened to your medical bill?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmm
> 
> also, i already started working on the next chapter--i might get it posted today too if i keep it up c:<


	12. Penny For Your Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who is paying your medical bill?
> 
> The answer will surprise you! (Except not really.)

Whether his body has suddenly started to react to temperatures like non-magical beings or he's been working too hard, either way, Sans feels about ready to pass out right now. And not the kind of "normal" passing out that he is used to (I.E. sleep), but rather, the kind of passing out that would most likely give him a headache and drain his energy; potentially affect his magic, too.

And yet, the worse that feeling gets, the more he tries to shake himself out of it and push himself to the limit.

Hah... Papyrus will be pretty ticked when he finds out about this later. But, eh.

The hot-dogs won't sell themselves, right?

"Sans, um... Are you okay?"

He feels something nudge his shoulder through the fogginess of his mind; groggily, Sans returns to consciousness, only to jump when he meet the gaze of the Nicecream Guy. Uh, what was his real name again? Billy...?

"Bobby," the other monster corrects, and Sans blinks. Oh, had he said that out loud?

"ngh, sorry bud," he mumbles, roughly digging his palm into his eyesockets, in some sort of attempt to get himself back to alertness. Bobby frowns in concern.

"You look worn out. Haven't you taken a break?"

No. "yeah..."

"Does Papyrus know you're here?" He glances around the street and sidewalks, as though looking for mentioned brother. Sans barks out a sudden laugh, startling the blue bunny.

"nah. he'd kill me if he did."

That, of course, doesn't help anything, as Bobby says worriedly, "It's really hot out. Do you want me to go back to my stand and fetch you a Nicecream?"

Sans shook his head, waving his hand around flippantly--a bit shaky, maybe. "'m good," he practically slurs, "just need sum more customers, y'know?"

"Sans, I am serious. This isn't healthy, you're really pushing yourself."

Ugh, what does it matter? "need the money," he grumps. His sockets are narrowing, irritation starting to grip him

"For what?" inquires Bobby, almost incredulously, and spots the money he already has saved up: "Dear me, isn't that plenty—?"

"no."

He startles again, blinking at the skeleton with wide eyes. Sans avoids his gaze, however, glaring down at the concrete beneath him.

"...Alright," he hears Bobby sigh. "Here."

The rabbit monster hands him a few dollars, enough for more than one; the skeleton stares at him, somewhat surprised. He always thought Bobby hated hot-dogs...?

"Keep the change," the other monster says with a smile, and takes it upon himself to snatch up a hot-dog from the cart before walking away, not without waving Sans goodbye cheerfully.

Sans continues to look after him for a moment, then sighs, going on to count the money he'd received.

* * *

You end up bolting out of your room like a spooked rabbit, taking the stairs two at a time until you reach the first floor; Frisk immediately sees you, and takes in your frazzled appearance with a frown. "What's wrong?" they ask, their attention away from the TV now.

You force yourself to take a deep breath and calm down, running your fingers through your hair. "Wh—who—” Okay, take another breath, maybe. “What happened to my medical bill?” you gasp out, eventually.

Having appeared from the kitchen as you asked the question, Toriel frowned slightly, drying her paws on her pants. “Why are you worrying about that?”

“I just—I have no money,” you go on, “but they let me go without bringing it up? That’s—what happened, are they just waiting to give it to me for some reason, or...”

“Oh, (Y/N), there is no need to worry about that!” She gently grips your shoulders, causing you to glance up at her. “It is already being paid for,” she continues, smiling warmly.

“...Wait, you’re... Are _you_ paying for it?”

She chuckles a bit, “In a way.”

In a way...?

“But please, my dear, do not fret about it. We will take care of it ourselves; you just take care of yourself, okay?”

You merely stare after her, your eyes saucers as she makes her way back to the kitchen.

Dear gods, what did you do to _deserve_ this?

* * *

_Who is really paying it? Are you?_

Toriel exhales gently, before turning to Frisk with another smile.

“I am partaking in some of it, yes,” she says, “all of us are.”

 _Can I help?_ they sign. She hesitates, but they pull some coins and a couple of dollars out of their pockets, making her smile broaden slightly.

She leans down and pats their head lovingly, murmuring, “Of course, my child. I am sure she would appreciate it very much.”

Frisk beams back at her, hands over their money, then races back to the living room as she watches them go fondly.

* * *

Yet again, Sans finds himself being shaken awake, blinking slowly up at something tall and orange in his vision.

“oh,” he drawls after a moment, “hey, Paps.”

...Wait.

The lights in his sockets shrink.

“uh—”

“SANS,” his brother starts, much, _much_ too calmly to be safe. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“uh...” Suddenly his skull is wet. He wipes his forehead, letting out a shaky laugh, “wh-what do you mean? ‘m sellin’ ‘dogs.”

Papyrus’s eyes narrow.

Sans may or may not have swallowed in fear.

“YOU DID NOT GET ANY SLEEP AT ALL LAST NIGHT.” His hands move from his hips, and he crosses his arms over his chest instead.

“so?” the shorter managed weakly.

Somehow, his sockets narrow even further. “SO I ADVISED YOU NOT TO WORK TODAY BECAUSE OF SUCH.”

“...so?”

“SO _WHAT_? WHAT IS YOUR EXCUSE, SANS?”

His hands start shaking, more than they were before, and he stuffs them into his hoodie’s pockets—a little more careful with doing so with his left. “you know,” he mumbles, barely audible; Papyrus feels the intent of his soul, more than hears his words.

And his anger dissipates a little, his irritated frown softening. “BROTHER, THIS IS A _JOINT_ EFFORT, REMEMBER? I TOLD YOU NOT TO—”

“yeah, yeah, not to worry ‘bout payin’ all of it.” Sans sighs, and his eyesockets somehow droop, as the well as the edges of his ever-present smile. “but, it’s... it’s the least i can do, Pap.”

Softening even more, Papyrus gently pulls his brother towards him and away from the stand. “FIRST OF ALL, THAT IS INCORRECT; SECOND OF ALL,” he gently wipes away the sudden tears that had started to gather in Sans’s sockets, his voice lowering, “I know how much this means to you, but... When I said to be there for her, I didn’t mean to put your own needs aside like _this_.”

“yeah, well, what else am i ‘sposed to do?” he chuckles, almost bitterly. “for stars’ sake, this was never about me in the first place, i’d much rather rot than let her deal with this crap alone.”

“Don't say that.”

“it’s true, though.” He forces a laugh once more. “might as well make use of me somehow.”

Scowling, Papyrus says nothing at first, and Sans half expects him to berate him again; but instead, he pulls him into a firm hug.

“This does not mean I'm no longer mad at you,” he mumbles into his brother’s shoulder, causing Sans to chuckle, genuinely, this time.

After a moment, Papyrus pulls away. “ALRIGHT, PACK UP YOUR THINGS,” he commands, his voice back to its normal boisterous volume.. “WE ARE LEAVING RIGHT NOW.”

Knowing he’s not going to get out of it, Sans just sighs, and does as he told; once he’s done, Papyrus turns back to lead, pushing the cart for the both of them.

Sans pauses before following, taking something out of his left pocket. He slips it onto his ring finger, and stares at the gold band for a moment, his expression softening.

Then, he trudges after Papyrus towards their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saaans that's not how to do thiiings


	13. Bet It's Not That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where you're in disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY--
> 
> first of all thanks again for all the support, can't say that enough,
> 
> second of all,
> 
> I am literally, going to cry at some point while writing this,
> 
> because i found [this amazing mashup](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9bAGmj1NFI) and it's my new favorite thing and hOLY CRap does it fit this story so well i might just lose it
> 
> UM ANYWAY
> 
> here's the next one, hope you like it sob--

For most of the night, upon retreating up to the guest room again after joining Toriel and Frisk for dinner, you simply lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. Given the fact you haven’t gotten much sleep lately, you probably should at least try to now; but you pretty much know it’s futile.

You can’t help but wonder about all of this right now. You’ve never really asked them why they think they know you—during your time at the hospital, the doctors implied you have some sort of amnesia, but... That doesn’t sit right with you, for some reason. ~~Or maybe you think that because you _do_ have amnesia?~~ Either way it’s confusing the Hell out of you. Especially since...

Ugh. They won’t even tell you who’s paying for your medical bill. And is there more than one bill, too? How can anyone afford that? If Toriel is paying, how much money does she—wait, no, don’t think about that, that’s kind of rude.

Huffing, you roll onto your side, fiddling with your pajamas; the pajamas they had lent you, of course.

But seriously... How...?

As expected, these thoughts continue to race around your mind no matter how hard you try to actually force them out and get some rest, so you end up getting little to no sleep by the time you start hearing birds singing outside. You know you should feel more guilty for everything—you should be doing something, like helping out, or something. But even now, the weight of all of this hasn’t really hit you. And you know that’s only going to make you feel more guilty down the line.

You sigh, and sit up in bed, looking out the window. It’s still dark outside, as the sun hasn’t come up quite just yet. The stars are still out.

...Huh.

The longer you look at them, the heavier your chest feels.

...Like they remind you of something.

...

Or someone.

By the time dawn arrives, you’re downstairs. You’d figured the least you could do in your current situation is help Toriel with breakfast, so you’re more or less doing that—even if ~~you’re pretty sure~~ you know nothing about cooking.

At first she’d denied help from you but she seems... Tired this morning. It hadn’t really been hard to convince her, in the end, and that worries you a bit. ~~You wonder if it’s because of you. What lengths is she going to in order to help you...?~~

You decide to say something about it—suggest, maybe, you should go somewhere else, so she doesn’t have to worry as much. But just then Frisk trots down from upstairs and into the kitchen, recapturing your attention as their face seems to light up completely at the sight of you.

“Good morning!” they chirp, and you echo their greeting, a bit quieter but with a smile of your own. They give your torso a brief hug from behind before sitting themselves at the table.

Nothing much happens during breakfast itself, other than feeling intrusive again when Frisk and Toriel engage in a conversation without you. They do try to include at one point but it ends up failing pretty quickly when you yourself can’t keep it up without awkwardness pushing itself into any attempt you try to make.

You appreciate it, that they’re trying to make an effort, but...

It’s just... Weird.

So you excuse yourself from the table and go back upstairs, trying to ignore the pressing shame in you.

* * *

Toriel counts the money she has in her wallet, and frowns a bit, re-glancing at the bills Mrs. Richards had handed over.

Somehow, despite her best efforts, this won’t cut it; Alphys is fidgeting, her claws tapping together nervously, and even Undyne looks queasy somehow.

“I thought there was just the one?” she asks, her voice sounding more accusing than she’d planned. Mrs. Richards winces.

“There was, but there’s a complication that we forgot —”

The nurse jumps as a large fist collides with the desk in front of her.

“ _Seriously_?!” snaps Undyne, her yellow teeth baring threateningly at the poor woman, who shrinks back in fear.

“Undyne, please,” Toriel cuts in quickly, “there is no need to—”

“Why did you even wait to give us this in the FIRST PLACE?! You think we got time for this crap?!!”

“I-I—y-you know why we waited—”

“But was it even worth it?”

Silence.

“That’s all the money we have,” the fish monster goes on, growling slightly. “You think we can just barf up some more?”

“I’m sorry, we... We gave you time,” Mrs. Richards responds wearily. “I _know_ it’s not fair, but—we tried our best and...”

“But you can’t accept any other currency,” Undyne sneers.

“...No.”

“Screw you guys.”

“Undyne!” Toriel gasps, but Undyne just shoots her glare to her instead, opening her mouth to retort.

Then the doors burst open, and somebody shouts, “WAIT, PLEASE!!”

They all spin around, just as Papyrus marches up the desk, slamming down a wad of cash. Mrs. Richards starts flipping through the the money rapidly, albeit a bit shakily.

“THIS SHOULD COVER EVERYTHING!” he announces proudly, his smile only faltering slightly as he watches her count up the bills.

There’s a tense moment of silence. Then...

Mrs. Richards smiles.

“Th-this is perfect, thank you!” she stumbles out, her eyes twinkling.

The monsters breathe out sighs of relief,

and for a moment, things seem fine.

“Where did you get all of this, Papyrus?” Toriel asks, however, and his grin falters.

“It is... Not all mine.”

They stare at him.

“What do you mean?” the former queen presses uneasily.

The skeleton wrings his hands, “Well, you... You called me, just as you got here, right? In case there was something you did not plan for?”

“Yes... If you did not have enough, you could have just told me. You know that, do you not?”

He shifts from foot to foot, not meeting her gaze.

“We did have enough.”

“We...?”

“I did not want to use it, but this is mostly Sans’s money.”

At first, Toriel merely stares at him, confused.

“Where did he get it?”

“Well... He’s been working himself very hard lately, but... That wouldn’t have given him much. I think he’s been saving most of it up for a while.”

There’s another beat of silence.

“So that was all of your guys’ money,” Undyne mutters.

“Not... All of it.” Still, Papyrus frowns.

...

“Just his.”

...

“I-I mean,” Mrs. Richards says suddenly, her timid voice breaking through said quiet like a wrecking ball. “A-at least you paid it off, r-right?” Trying to lighten the mood, somehow.

...But nobody is smiling.

* * *

You and Frisk are watching TV on the couch when Toriel comes back. Frisk immediately jumps to their feet to greet her, and you slowly make your way over after they do.

When she sees you, she smiles. ~~As though she hadn’t been smiling before.~~

“All your bills have been paid,” she tells you.

“All?” you echo. She nods confirmation.

You don’t want to ask how much it was.

Instead...

“Who paid it? Really?”

Her smile appears even faker, somehow.

“Everyone helped. But most of it came from Sans.”

...Sans?

Why...?

Before you can ask as much, she’s already walking away. You merely stand there for a moment, gaping.

“But why?” you ask aloud anyway. Mostly to yourself, probably.

Frisk gives you a look: a specific look that tells you you already know. And you shake your head slightly, frowning.

...It still doesn’t make sense.

“He doesn’t know me,” you reiterate firmly.

There... Must be some other reason he’d...

“Then why?” They ask the same thing you’re wondering, and don’t have your own answer to.

Because, you want to say.

Just because.

...Because what?

Because you don’t remember him? Because you think you don’t know him?

Because you _think_ you know who you are? And no one else does?

...No.

You know who you are. You _do_.

And you don’t need to know him, or anyone else. Even if they think they know you.

Even if he _thinks_ he loves you.

He doesn’t.

He can’t.

...

...

Right?


	14. Out of Tune

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You discover a couple of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT ONE HAH

You first notice it on your way to the bathroom.

The door is cracked open just slightly, not too obvious but drawing attention to itself enough to pique your interest. You merely pass it off as a storage room, however—mainly to get yourself uninterested. This isn’t your house, and it’s none of your business. Snooping around wouldn’t do good for anyone.

...Well, then the next day comes, and your curiosity heightens.

You’re sitting in the living room when you hear the rustling of paper; a few moments later, Frisk appears, from none other than that room itself. They’re clutching, as you guessed, papers of sorts, and they make their way over to you as you sit up a bit straighter.

“What are these?” you ask them, before they hold out the papers to you. You pause before taking them, giving the child an inquisitive look. They themselves look oddly... Hopeful. Like they’re expecting something from you.

You tear your eyes away to look at what you’ve received; then furrow your eyebrows.

They’re... Music sheets?

Except, they appear to be drawn—the music notes and lines are scribbled over the paper almost lazily, but clear enough to be played for an instrument of sorts.

“Do you recognize them?” Frisk questions softly, after a pause.

You glance back at them, and your expression must say it all, because their own falls.

“I’m sorry,” you tell them, “but I don’t.”

Your confirmation seems to make their frown deepen, but suddenly their gaze hardens—something like determination swirling in their eyes.

Then, without warning they dart away towards the hallway, heading for the strange room they’d come out of, and you’re left feeling confused and somewhat weirded-out.

* * *

Ever since hearing about what Sans apparently did for you, it’s been on your mind; not that, specifically, but more so the part you want to find out—and how’d you do so.

Though, the more you consider it, the _less_ you actually want to find out that way. For one, Frisk’s odd behavior at the moment has been on your mind too. As for the other main reason, you know you’d be complicating things again between you and Sans, because Heaven knows you’re bad at simple communication and conveying how you feel. Anything you say to him could potentially... Well... Pretty much ruin everything.

Therefore, you kind of just try to forget about that.

And then somebody knocks on Toriel’s front door.

For whatever reason you think it wise to stay downstairs while she goes to answer it, which proves to be not in your favor, exactly. Because Sans is the one at the door.

Toriel smiles warmly at him, despite the sudden tension (that probably only you can feel anyhow). “Oh, hello Sans! What brings you here today, my friend?”

Sans grins back at her, just a bit forced, “uh, yeah, well...” He rubs the back of his neck, “i was wonderin’ if we could borrow something? Pap’s been kind of worried ‘bout going to the store again.”

“Oh. Of course, come in,” she says, stepping out of the way to invite him inside. Before you can hide or do anything of the sort, Sans, of course, spots you peeking around the corner from the hallway like a kid who knows they did something bad.

For a moment, you just stare at each other. Then...

“hi.”

You blink.

Here he’s willingly saying hello first and you’re just standing there, still staring silently.

“Uh, sorry—hi.” You start apologizing but through the middle switch to greeting him instead, causing your words to come out like a jumbled mess.

Great, this is just how you imagined things going; pretty close to it, at least.

“What would you like to borrow?” Toriel calls from the kitchen, and there’s a brief moment of relief as Sans seems to be awkwardly shuffling over to her instead of staying to chat with you.

“sugar,” you hear him tell her, and you’re about to leave for the guest room because you’re off the hook.

“Oh, (Y/N), I hate to be a bother,” you freeze as Toriel addresses you, “but I think I left the sugar out on the table over there, could you please get it for me?”

...Uh.

Okay...? Seems easy enough?

Forcing down your uneasiness you head over to said dining table, and sure enough, there’s the container of sugar. You pick it up and are going over to Toriel—

“You can just hand it to Sans,” she adds, and you hesitate briefly.

So you turn to him instead, holding it out to him, with your hands shaking only a little. You refuse to meet his gaze, even when he tentatively takes the container from you.

But something catches your eye.

You look up quickly, your attention now focused on his hand—he notices and quickly stuffs said hand into pocket, as though trying to hide it from you.

You’ve already seen it, though.

...That’s...

He’s wearing a wedding ring.

Suddenly you’re staring again.

“...uh...” He looks nervous. He’s not meeting your gaze, either. “i-i’ll just... be going now... thanks tori.”

Wait.

Wait, wait—

You should...

Shouldn’t you thank him, at least?

Even if you don’t quite understand...?

“Wait!” you blurt out before you can help it.

Then your mouth shuts itself, just as fast.

You’re not talking to him anymore.

He’s... Gone.

You look back at Toriel. She seems uneasy.

You don’t say anything. Neither of you do.

You head back upstairs.

* * *

The next morning, you awake to an odd noise.

It sounds almost surreal, like you’re dreaming, or something.

The noise is familiar, almost.

You get out of bed and get dressed quickly, heading downstairs towards the living room—the noise is a bit louder.

And it abruptly stops.

...And starts up again.

It sounds like...

Music?

But it’s choppy. Like someone’s practicing something.

You walk towards the hallway that leads to the bathroom, and the music(?) grows louder.

It’s coming from that weird room.

The door to said room is open again, more of a gap than a crack between it and the wall.

You peek in, pushing it just slightly, and...

You see Frisk first, sitting in front of it on a bench.

Then you see the piano.

And somewhere deep in your soul, you remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _hmmmmmmmmm_
> 
> ~~i love being cryptic~~


	15. If I'm Being Honest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is made... Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ack there isn't really a way to make this chapter less clunky,
> 
> but i tried,

It's... Still choppy. Very choppy, in fact. Judging by that, they haven't been playing this particular song much—maybe they haven't been playing much piano at all.

And yet, you can't help but listen.

Maybe it's creepy. Maybe a bit intrusive. But it's... Nostalgic. Bittersweet, almost.

~~And... You remember.~~

However, that thought is instantly torn away as Toriel’s voice drifts through the house, calling the both of you for breakfast. The piano-playing immediately comes to a halt and you quickly backtrack to the hallway; you pretend you’d just been coming from the bathroom, just as the strange door opens and Frisk steps out.

Their eyes brighten when they see you, and they chirp quickly, “Race ya!”

You beam back. “You’re on!”

And for a moment, you forget.

* * *

Okay. Okay, so, this...

...This is fine!

He’s thought it over since yesterday, and it’s fine, he doesn’t know why he was so worried in the first place. Heh, it’s not a big deal, why did he think it was?

...Well, for one... You’d looked at him... _That_ way again. ~~That confused, disbelieving, almost _accusatory_ way, and...~~

But it doesn’t mean anything—if anything, it’s a good thing you saw it! You might remember something!

Maybe?

At the very least, you’d consider it...?

...Ah, but.

Who is he kidding, really. That’s not going to make you remember by itself.

Even so... He’s been in his room since most of yesterday, and all of this morning. It’s noon now; Papyrus is probably starting to worry again, and he’d much rather not get _another_ pep talk.

(...Heh. His immature ~~hysterical~~ brain nurses the idea of calling it a “Pap talk.” But that’s dumb.)

Frankly, Sans himself is tired of not doing anything—this game of feeling sorry for himself is getting old.

If nothing else, he at least wants to seem competent and _not_ scared of offending you somehow.

Might as well go down and join his brother for breakfast. Later...

He can think about later, well... Later.

* * *

“Hey, (Y/N)?”

You’re almost surprised when Frisk comes to talk to you willingly. Which, you really shouldn’t be— _they’re_ always the one coming to _you_ , not the other way around—but still. Given yesterday’s events you kind of started thinking they would... Avoid you, in a way. Sans is their friend after all, and you’re being nothing short of rude to him, so...

...You... Should fix that, anyhow.

I mean, he’s the one that has been giving you the benefit of the doubt—

“(Y/N)?”

Oh right. You’re being talked to, don’t retreat into your mind like that.

You force a smile as you meet Frisk’s gaze, asking, “Sorry, um, what do you need?”

“Do you...” They start the question quickly, but it dies on their tongue soon after, and they fidget.

“Yes?” you prompt, trying to not be too demanding of them, despite your new curiosity.

“...Do you have experience, with... I-I mean, do you remember playing instruments, at all?”

Their words are stilted—clearly, they don’t expect a sure answer out of you.

And you... Do not have a sure answer, either.

“Sorry, but I don’t.”

~~Did you used to...?~~

Do they think you did, for some reason?

“...Right,” they mumble hesitantly, probably out of instinct, knowing what you’d naturally say.

It’s then, for some odd, random reason, that you start questioning this entire situation. You haven’t seriously considered it until now, which...

...Wow.

Uh.

Hmm.

You look up, as though to tell Frisk something, but... They’ve disappeared?

Did they actually have something else to say, or...?

Based on their behavior, you think it’s more so that they chickened out, in a way. They’d wanted to say something else, likely, but you probably...

Ugh, you probably ruined _that_ too.

...

Okay. Okay, that’s it. You’re done guessing, and making up your own solutions for everything.

You are going to _ask_ a _question_. You don’t care if anyone thinks you should automatically “know" something—you’re going to get it out of _them_ instead. You are _going_ to figure this mess out, and _why_ ~~everything you do seems wrong~~ everyone seems to think certain things about you.

You’re determined!

...Kind of? More or less?

I mean, you’re going to try, at least.

That’s... Probably good enough. Right?

* * *

Well. First thing’s first.

...

...Uh...

Communication(?).

For that, Papyrus has come up with the “brilliant” idea of simply calling you. Sans... Is less enthusiastic, but? It beats? Seeing you in person?? ~~Not that he doesn’t want to see you he’d be willing to see you but—~~

Oh for stars’ sake he’s done this already, why is he beating around the bush he can _talk to you._

So what if you saw the ring ~~and you think he’s crazy~~ , it doesn’t change anything!

Just be honest. That’s all he has to do.

He’ll dial Toriel’s number, request to have her give the phone to you, and...

...He’s not dialing.

Oh dear gods why is this so hard.

Papyrus, who has been surveying this of course, takes the phone from his trembling hands, letting out a deep, almost disappointed sigh.

“YOU TWO ARE LITERAL _CHILDREN_ , I SWEAR.”

It’s almost funny. Sans almost laughs, but then his brother starts tapping the digits in the phone and he suddenly feels nauseous, so laughing isn’t really a good idea right now. ~~Even if he wants to, because laughing is the only way he knows how to _deal_ with this.~~

“HELLO, LADY ASGORE!” Sans bites his nonexistent tongue as Papyrus starts talking through the phone. “MAY I SPEAK TO (Y/N)?”

...

“THANK YOU! ...HELLO, (Y/N), THIS IS PAPYRUS!! ...YES, IT IS NICE TO SPEAK TO YOU, TOO!”

This is so awkward why did he agree—

“UM, ACTUALLY, I WAS WONDERING IF YOU COULD TALK TO MY BROTHER FOR A MOMENT? ...REALLY? WOW, THAT’S FUNNY!”

What are you saying what was that—

“ALRIGHT WELL, HERE HE IS! BYE!!”

Oh, welp. This is it. Time to make a fool out himself more ~~and make you hate him for real this time.~~

He’s handed the phone, and he brings it up to his skull tentatively, surprising even himself with his rather calm greeting of, “hey.”

There’s just... Silence.

Should he...?

“um, sorry, about... yesterday...?”

...

“that was, err... i, kinda messed up and—”

_“Uh, no!”_

.....

?

What?

 _“That was, my fault?”_ you clarify, your voice just as uncertain—and that relieves him, just a little. (Maybe... You don’t know what you’re doing, either?) _“I was being—I was really rude, to you, and... That wasn’t very...”_

“nah, it’s... fine.”

_“...Um... No? It’s not? I’ve been really... Really rude lately, to everyone and—and I know I should be kind of justified in that but, it’s not... Uh......”_

Sans... Does not know whether to laugh or cry, right now.

“heh,” he resorts to instead, his voice kind of a... Little bit of both? “seriously, it’s fine. don’t worry ‘bout it.”

 _“ **No** ,”_ you insist, suddenly firm and, sure of yourself. _“I didn’t even—gods, I, you paid for my medical bills right?!”_

...

“yeees?” Um? Why does that matter?

_“I never **thanked** you, and you think that’s okay? How much was that even, was that **all** of your money?”_

“...not... necessarily...”

_“...It was.”_

“uh, n-no—”

_“It **was** , what the **Hell** —”_

“i-it’s fine!” he interrupts your rambling quickly, sensing your rising anxiety. “i just! i wanted to help you out and—”

He trails off, and the line goes silent. He thinks you’ve hung up at first, but, he can hear faint breathing on the other end.

“are... are you okay?” he asks, with a touch of worry.

 _“...No—no yeah, I’m fine._ _...Th—... Thank you.”_

Your voice cracks, and it’s like he doesn’t really hear the second part of your statement. “you sure you’re okay?”

 _“Yeah. Yeah, it’s...”_ You noticeably pause. _“Thanks,”_ you repeat, _“for, uh... Paying.”_

“of course.”

And he means it.

_“Um... Bye? Talk to you later, I guess?”_

He... Doesn’t want you to go. Something’s wrong. You’re...

“bye,” he says anyway, because...

...Well, what else is he supposed to do?

You’d... Oddly enough, you had said you’d talk to him later, but that was... Did you really mean, or were you just being...

He tosses the phone onto the couch beside him, feeling almost lost, in a way. He didn’t get much closure out of that conversation at all—he doubts you did, either, with the way you were acting at the end. So what was the point? Why had you been so abrupt?

He... Does hope you’ll talk to him later, somehow, but...

Will you?

* * *

To say you’re frustrated is ultimately the understatement of the century.

You didn’t say _nearly_ as much as you wanted to during that call, and it’s not the fault of anyone, much less his—it’s really yours.

(Ugh, why didn't you just ask about the ring?! Why did you have to bail out on yourself like that?!)

You feel like you... Need to fix it. Fix _something_. You just don’t know what yet. You don’t know what’s expected of you; you don’t even know what you’re expecting of yourself, in the end.

Something just... Isn’t right here.

You’re supposed to be doing something, right?

Are... Are you _supposed_ to remember? Why don’t you? Why don’t you _know_ anything, why can’t you find _anything_ about who you used to be, other than these people’s words?

...No.

No, no, it... It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t.

Who cares, you need to find your sister. That’s the only thing you know right now, that’s the only thing that’s important—the only thing you’re sure of.

You don’t know anyone else. Your soul tells you so.

Your soul...

Wait.

_Your soul remembers._

You hear the music, it’s coming from that room again.

_Your soul remembers the music._

You jump to your feet, suddenly desperate, desperate to find out _some_ thing, to find out _some_ type of answer.

You practically rush towards the room, and don’t think twice about pushing it open, even when Frisk stops playing, whipping around to face you with surprise.

You start walking over, slowly. Your gaze is on the piano.

...You remember.

Not everything, but...

Blinking out of your stupor, you see that Frisk is staring at you, something alight in their gaze; like they’ve realized _you’ve_ realized something.

You smile, just a little.

“You’re pretty good at playing,” you say.

And they smile back.

* *

There was a truck in front of you, and you were standing in a field. You were supposed to be inside, somewhere, getting dressed for something, but you’d come out here instead.

You were laughing in disbelief about something, carefree but somewhat confused. Someone, a monster, was talking to you in return, but the words were unclear; they were lifting a piano from the back of the truck.

_Your piano._

“What’s it for?” you inquired. The monster just shook her head, grinning broadly.

She couldn’t tell you, she claimed.

You just smiled back, and shook your head in return.

_Heh..._

You supposed you would find out, soon enough.


	16. Goal Start: The First Part!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You start planning things!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so not only did i get this chapter finished today but
> 
> i drew a thingy: 
> 
> you're welcome

It is that night that you choose to lie awake in bed again and overthink things to the point where you don't get any sleep, as opposed to getting little sleep last time.

First and foremost you _definitely_ need a job if you're going to continue to ~~mooch off of~~ live with Toriel and Frisk. It doesn’t have to be something big at first—just enough to get you started and make your own money.

...But, how to go about that, is the real question. What jobs would be best for you? What jobs are “simple” but still pay good? What’s within your range? ~~What are you _good_ at, anyhow...?~~

For quite a while you just... Stay there, well into the early hours. Soon enough morning arrives, but you don’t get up quite yet, even still.

It seems until forever that a knock on the guestroom’s door interrupts you, and you call out permission to come in; to your slight surprise, it’s Toriel, and she... Looks... Sheepish?

“Is something wrong?” you ask, eyeing her ~~cautiously~~ inquisitively. She offers back a reassuring smile, almost assuaging your sudden anxiety. (Almost.)

“Oh, nothing, dear. There is, um...” She steps into the room fully, and you notice she’s grasping something in one of her big palms. “Something I would like to give you,” she finishes, at last.

Naturally, you’re a bit wary—though, to be honest, you’re more curious, so you just nod slightly. She comes closer after a pause, over to you, and once she’s in front of you, she unveils what she has: a phone.

“...Why?” is all you can manage, with a blank stare at the object.

“A friend thought you could use it,” she explains, which... Really explains nothing. “They know you are... Struggling, so this is to help. S—they also said they can upgrade it in the future, if you’d like.”

 _Upgrade_ it? It already looks pretty high-tech though? Wh—?

“I-I don’t... I can’t take this,” you blurt out awkwardly, trying to gently urge her hand and the phone away, “this, it’s too much, Toriel...”

“Nonsense! We are happy to help you out!” She tries to urge _you_ to take the phone now, and you shrink back from her.

“B-but I—h-how much is it going to cost, anyway?” you stammer; if you _did_ decide to take it, there’s still the matter of paying whoever gave it to you, and you don’t—

“Nothing.”

You let your hands flop down onto the bed helplessly, wondering if you heard her right.

“They said they do not need a payment for it,” Toriel continues. “Consider it a gift.”

No, this is all wrong, this...

_You don’t even have a **job** yet!_

_You can’t just—_

Toriel steps back, and you blink out of your inner rambling for a moment, seeing the small, nearly sad smile on her face.

“It is alright; you do not have to make a decision right now,” she tells you. And that doesn’t really make you feel better, despite her wanting it to.

“Okay,” you say meekly, anyway, just for her sake. She brightens, just a little, then goes to leave—not without hesitating to leave the phone on the dresser.

She stops in the doorway, and looks back at you.

“I... Do hope you know, how much we care about you. ...Even if you do not know us.”

Before you can even process or respond, she’s already slipped out, and the door clicks closed gently behind her.

You know there was an unspoken _anymore_ at the end of her sentence, but... You’re not sure what to make of it, and that in of itself, along with pondering over the phone, leaves you feeling torn over what to do.

...Well,

maybe eating will help, somehow.

Sure enough, shortly after breakfast you make your decision. Regardless of everyone’s kindness, you refuse to let them bend over backwards for you even now; therefore, you march yourself to the kitchen, intent on speaking to Toriel, when...

She spots you and turns to face you directly, beaming, “Oh, (Y/N), I was just looking for you!”

...Alright, maybe it could wait.

You practically force back a friendly smile. “Um, okay, what do you need?”

She sets down the plates she had in her hands and walks over, saying, “I would like to speak to you about something. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” you say, as she leads you two over to the living room. She invites you to sit and, after some hesitance, you take a spot on the couch while she sits across from you in the recliner.

“So,” she begins, “it has come to my attention you’d like to look for a job?”

 _Crap_. Were you that obvious?

“U-uh, yes?” you fumble. “Just—I’m grateful for what everyone’s been doing and—I want to help out by, earning my own money, and...”

“No need to explain yourself, my dear, I understand!” When you meet her gaze, she smiles pleasantly at you, but you can’t muster up the courage this time to smile back. “As much as I said we like helping you, you do need to get out on your own, too.”

...Why... Is she saying that like you’re her daughter? And you’re gaining your own independence, or about to leave the nest?

You decide not to question it, right now.

“But, um...” You snap back to attention at her voice, “I was hoping I could propose something to you, in correspondence to that.”

“...Yeees?” you say slowly.

She taps her fingers together, looking sheepish, as she had earlier. “I was thinking about it and, while I am sure you will be fine searching on your own, I realized there is somebody who could help you find a job that suits you best.”

Oh.

Um.

“Who?”

“Sans.”

She says. Simply.

Like it’s obvious.

Like it’s no problem.

“Sans?” you echo, dubiously.

“Yes,” she confirms calmly, “he is very hard-working and already has a couple of jobs to boot; I am certain he could offer you some assistance.”

...Uh...

Despite yourself, you ask weakly, “What’s the catch?”

“None. He told me he’d be willing to do so.”

Of course he did.

“...Ah, well, there is one thing, come to think of it.”

Oh gods what is it.

“You’d need to have your own phone, so you can call him regularly,” she states.

And you just stare back at her. Maybe a bit rudely, on your behalf. Maybe a bit too long.

But.

You don’t know how else to answer.

Because what the heck.

“Not to mention, once you _do_ have your own job, it would be more than enough to ‘pay’ it off, if you truly wanted that...” Seeing your expression, Toriel quickly adds, “It’s up to you, however!” Sure it is. “The choice is entirely yours to make. If you do not wish to accept our help, that is fine by us.”

...She’s literally manipulating you. Into accepting help.

Whatever you choose, whatever your decision is, they’re going to find a way to give you _something_.

_What the actual Hell?_

_Who are these people??_

_And why are they friendly-blackmailing you???_

_Is that even what it is?! You don’t know anymore!_

As you’re ranting in your mind, Toriel makes to stand and leaves you alone altogether. Meanwhile you continually gape, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Wait,” you meagerly croak out to nothing, not even sure if she heard you or not—or if she’ll come back.

But she does, within a few seconds? ~~Had she been _waiting_? _What_?~~

Ugh...

The _least_ you can do, you suppose...

“What’s Sans’s phone number?” Your voice is like a grumble; you _know_ Toriel’s aware of your embarrassment, and you _know_ she’s perfectly okay with it because she just _grins_.

“You can just use my phone for now, if that is alright,” she says as she goes to fetch said phone of her own, and you can practically _taste_ the cheekiness in her tone.

What.

Even.

By the time you’ve called and he’s picked up, you’re just entirely wiped out—and it probably comes out in your tone, because first thing he asks you is,

_“uh, you okay?”_

~~There it is again. That weird... Concern. Like he cares.~~

“Um, fine,” you say lamely. “Can I... Err? Toriel said, that...” What. What is that. Try again. “Toriel said! You can help me find a job??”

_“...oh no.”_

“Huh?”

_“he actually went through with it, i swear to—”_

“Excuse me?” you inquire incredulously, utterly confused now. “Did—what’s wrong, did I say something—”

 _“nooo,”_ you can hear him sigh through the phone, sounding entirely disgruntled; which doesn’t help your bewilderment. _“never mind, uh... is? tomorrow good?”_

“...What?”

He laughs, _“sorry, i mean—if it’s, if you’re free, can i, uh... can I come over tomorrow?”_

“...Sure? If, if Toriel’s okay with that, this is her house...”

 _“don't worry she’s fine with it.”_ How does he know that...?

“Um. Why though, would you be coming over?”

...That was too rude, you should—

_“oh, uh. to help you find a job.”_

“...Oh?”

_“yeah...”_

“Um... Okay.”

_“...”_

“...You... Still there?”

 _“uh, yeah! sorry!”_ Something’s... Odd? In his voice? A shakiness that you can’t quite place, almost. _“so! uh. see you then, i guess?”_

“Yeah, um... Until then,” you say awkwardly. “Bye...”

_“b-bye!”_

You hang up, and try to... Process.

Somehow, that conversation was even weirder than your encounter with Toriel earlier. How is that possible?

 _What_ have you gotten yourself into?

~~And why does it feel so familiar...?~~

With a huff, you slouch back onto the couch, clumsily kicking up your legs on the armrest.

Well. Frisk should be home from school soon. Maybe something normal can come out of that.

_...Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toriel be sneaky
> 
> i wonder who gave her that idea in the first place tho, hmm--


	17. Goal Start: The Second Part!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are put into action!
> 
> ...
> 
> Somewhat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was originally going to have this chapter be longer and include more stuff but i couldn't figure out a way to make it all fit so, sorry for splitting it up like this, it seems even clunkier now probably? i tried eh, i'm just tired and more sad than usual lol
> 
> i hope you like it anyway; and thanks again for all the feedback. love you guys <3

You heave out a breath of air, before finally picking the thing up.

Despite your feelings prior, you decided to take Toriel’s “advice”—of course you did—and now here you are, mulling over when (or even if you should) call. ‘Cause, uh... Fact was... Sans never told you a time? Just that he’d be coming today, at some point, and... Well, what else are you supposed to do in that timeframe? Indulge yourself and play their piano?

~~...I mean, you’d thought about it—you have a strange fascination with it for some reason...~~

~~Would they be okay with that anyway...?~~

Point is, you’re floundering. So in your haste you’d also asked Toriel for his phone number. It’s been an half an hour since then; no notices from him, nothing. And you’ve found yourself stalling from contacting him yourself, even though that’d probably be more convenient for the both of you.

...Okay. What happened? What happened to you being a _competent_ human being, wasn’t your deal in the first place that there was a communication problem here? And now you’re the one not... Playing by your own rules, or whatever??

You want to make excuses, but you just can’t, by this point. Sure, you’re in a tough spot; sure, anybody in your place has a right to be upset, maybe even a little mad if some strangers suddenly waltzed into their life, claiming to know them even if they didn’t know _themselves_. Perfectly reasonable.

But... As frustrating as it’s been, they never even gave you a _valid_ reason to be like this—to just... Ignore any new friendships they tried to offer.

That’s... That’s been hitting you, recently. More than ever.

They’ve been nothing but kind to you, these past strange weeks. Everyone.

Even _Sans_ has been trying to help you, and based on what you know about _him_ , he should _hate_ you. You still don’t know what’s up with that.

...You still... Want to ask, about it.

(Who is he married to...? Why does he claim it was you? Where is your ring, if that’s the case? Does he have an explanation for that?)

(If he _is_ married to someone else, why bother with you?)

~~(Were you really wrong...? Maybe he wasn’t just lying, or confused, if there’s physical proof, but then...)~~

(It doesn’t add up...)

You shake your head fervently and suddenly, as though trying to shake away those random thoughts. Now’s not the time.

You can... Make it up to everyone later, after you get a job.

Save up some money, and...

Try to search for your sister.

That’s your number one priority: find her. Find out who you are, truly.

Then deal with everything else.

Your soul swirling with newfound drive, you stop staring at ~~your~~ the phone, snatch the piece of paper with Sans’s number on it too, and...

And you chicken out.

He wouldn’t... Mind texting instead, right...?

* * *

 _What time are you coming??_

_Oh right this is (Y/N) sorry_

Sans admittedly stares at those two messages for longer than he should.

You willingly texted him.

_Willingly._

_From your own phone._

Granted, a phone that was given to you and you were most likely pressured into taking but—

Still!

Should he be this happy? Probably not.

_But._

You’ve... Considered it, clearly. And are making an effort to let him help you, and that’s...

...It’s...

Enough to give him hope.

...Just a little.

* * *

 **_Sans:_ ** _is 10 ok?_

 **_You:_ ** _Sure!_

...The exclamation point was too much, wasn’t it.

Oh well.

 ~~The fact he’s put up with you _this_ far is probably a good sign.~~

After that you’re too jittery to figure out if he responded or not, so you chuck the phone into your pocket and head back downstairs; as per usual Frisk is watching TV, particularly a movie if you’re being specific. You open your mouth to ask about the piano—ask why they’re not playing it, giving you an excuse to bring it up—but, you pause.

 _That can wait,_ you think after a beat.

So you trot up, smiling brightly as they meet your gaze, and plopping unceremoniously onto the cushion next to them after they scooch over.

Almost exactly at ten _on the dot_ , the doorbell rings. Without thinking you chirp a quick, “I’ll get it!” and hop off the couch, making your way to the front door.

You pull said door open, and immediately you’re facing a very, _very_ taken-off-guard skeleton.

...Oh.

He... Probably wasn’t expecting to get an answer so quickly...

“Um, sorry, that’s—hi,” you fumble out, wincing slightly before you can help yourself. With your luck, this is going to go just as good as last time he was here, geez.

Instead of, whatever disgusted, weirded-out expression you’d been expecting from him...

His permanent smile tilts up a little, and he seems to relax a bit more. “hey.”

So! That! Means! This is off to a good start, right? If he’s uh, not openly uncomfortable?

~~Openly?~~

“Um, you can... Come in? If you want—” Wait this isn’t your house, you don’t— “I mean! If, Toriel is, okay with it.”

Sans shuffles on his feet a bit, and oh no, _now_ he looks uncomfortable. “actually, uh... if it’s? okay with you, i was thinkin’, maybe, we can just head out now, or...?”

...Oh. He wants to get straight to the point.

~~Probably to spend as less time with you as possible.~~

Despite that sudden self-deprecating thought you smile. “Oh, um, sure. Where—”

It is then, when you start peeking behind him, that you realize.

There is not another car in the driveway.

Or any other mode of transportation.

He came here. With nothing. From nothing.

How......

That is, how does he expect to do this? Just walk?

I mean, you suppose that’s fine, but, how far, exactly? To where?

“oh—uh,” he cuts into your inner monologue, “don’t worry ‘bout that, i know a shortcut.”

...What...

What _kind_ of shortcut?

Your expression seems to ask as much because he proceeds to chuckle, “here, I’ll show you.”

He holds out his hand towards you,

then suddenly retracts it, just as quickly.

“...i mean... if, you want to,” he adds, not quite meeting your gaze, blue(?) appearing to spread across his skull.

“Sure?” you repeat, which, seems to be your answer for everything—he appears to gain back whatever confidence he had left though, and re-proposes his palm outward. Curious, you take it without much pondering, and slowly his skeletal—and surprisingly malleable?—fingers secure themselves around your hand.

Remembering briefly, you turn to close the door behind you, and when you turn back, nothing is _still_ happening. You blink at him, and for some reason, that action seems to make him more nervous.

“you... closer?”

_What?_

“i-i mean! you have to!” he blurts, before catching himself, clearing his nonexistent throat and trying to be nonchalant as he goes on, “uh, for this to work, you have to... come a little closer? otherwise it... you might...”

You cut him off by taking a step towards him, leaving about a foot or so between you two now. “Is this okay?” you ask, using your free hand to ~~anxiously~~ idly push your hair out of your face.

His response is to look away once more, that weird shade of blue (cyan?) tinting his cheekbones again. “u-uh... sure,” he mumbles.

Should you... _Not_ be so close, or...?

“anyway, uh,” he starts saying before you can overanalyze further, “you, should. hold my hand tightly, yeah?”

“Okay...?”

“it’s, only gonna take a sec—”

You blink, and instantly, the ground feels like it dips beneath you, causing your stomach to swoop and your lack of balance to be thrown off; you stumble, trying to regain your footing as a pair of arms helps to steady you, an almost frenzied voice accompanying them,

“crap, i-i—that wasn’t—a-are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Wh-what was that?” is all you can croak out, trying to stand up straight and look at him through your impaired vision. You think he grins sheepishly in response, but, you’re not sure.

“shortcut?”

...Pfft.

Bluntly you state, “Hell of a shortcut.”

His expression blanks.

...

Then he starts snickering, and despite your lightheadedness you smirk slightly, feeling just a bit better.

You use that time to glance down.

...And you quickly yank your hand away, startling him entirely, just enough for you to feel bad and hiss out a quick apology.

Okay, what...

What the heck was that?

Why? Why did you do that?

~~Why was he... Holding your hand, like that...?~~

~~Like he...~~

“Sorry,” you mutter, avoiding _his_ gaze, this time. “Y—l-let’s just get going.”

You purposely don’t seek out Sans’s expression, but...

“...yeah. just, uh... follow me.”

You hear something in his voice.

~~Disappointment?~~

~~Regret?~~

...Dejection, you think.

But you disregard that, turning away slightly on the unfamiliar sidewalk. “So, um, where are we heading to first?”

...

No response.

“Sans?”

“wait.”

His voice _now_ is... Uncharacteristically tense, compared to just a few moments ago. Like he just now has realized something.

You freeze.

When you look at him, his eye-lights have dimmed almost significantly. He still seems to be fixated on your hand.

“wh—d-did you ever...”

He stops. Starts up again, a bit more unhinged, somehow, “your ring, did you—what hap—do you remember having one?”

Your brows furrow, confusion replacing your unease temporarily. “No?” you answer. “I—why would I, I don’t...”

Sans proceeds to glance at his own hand, before going back to yours. The gears are obviously turning in his head—for what, you don’t know.

“Umm, aren’t we... What about the, job thing...?”

He shakes his skull suddenly, as though trying to shake away whatever he’d been thinking. “no—no, yeah, uh, we should go.”

...Oookay?

Your frown deepens, but you remain silent, as he starts walking; you have no choice but to follow, the unease pooling into your gut once again.

* * *

You’re not wearing it.

You _haven’t_ _been_ wearing it.

Gods, how could he have been so _stupid_ —

You never _were_ wearing it, he doesn’t remember seeing it on your hand at the hospital either—

And you don’t remember _anything_ , so it’s doubtful you’d take it off yourself during that time, without asking questions first.

You _never_ had it with you, not since they found you. Not since he last saw—

 _How_ has he not considered it?

How did he not notice it sooner?

_Where is your ring?_


	18. Oh, I Know We'll Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go see one "hot" fella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is all over the place i'm sorry

Things go relatively back to normal on your walk around the city, though you can tell Sans is a bit tenser now. His pace seems to be a bit sluggish too, but even so, you don't complain, even though he's the one in front of you.

"Is... Are you okay?" you find yourself asking eventually, ~~concerned~~ a bit inquisitive. His head snaps to you, eye-lights flickering back into existence (wait—how did he get them to disappear? Has he done that before too?).

“uh, yeah. fine.” His expression is lax when he looks at you, but his words were audibly clipped; therefore, you’re anything but convinced.

You know _he_ wants you to ignore it. But at the same time, clearly, he’s suddenly bothered by something—and even if you actively _know_ you’ve probably been difficult this whole time ~~and he likely wants nothing to do with you~~ , you’re now bothered that _he’s_ bothered.

So, you do the first thing that springs to your mind:

Instead of trailing behind him, you keep pace until you’re directly walking beside him.

You have your eyes trained on the sidewalk, but you feel his gaze boring into you.

An awkward silence forms between both of you, though you make no move to break it or fall behind him again.

It’s... Well...

It feels alright? ~~Not exactly nice, but...~~

In the silence you’ve almost forgotten what either of you have been doing in the first place until Sans stops in front of a building; the sign on the front reads “GRILLBY’S,” so you assume it’s a restaurant or, at the least, a bar of sorts.

You glance at him, your brows raised slightly.

“I’m assuming they’re hiring?” you utter, meaning to say it as a statement at first, no uncertainty—of course, it doesn’t come out of your mouth that way. Sans just chuckles slightly, waving his hand in a “so-so” gesture. You try to think up a response...

Until you realize you take too long and are just staring at him, not saying a word.

...Wow, is this awkward.

“Um, I—should I go in first, or...?”

He answers you by popping out of existence. You blanch for a total of three seconds, then hear a clinking noise and see him waving at you through the glass doors inside, looking all sorts of cheeky.

You sigh, only pretending to be irritated as your mouth twitches slightly and you open said doors to join him.

The minute you’re actually in the building, startlingly-warm air envelops you, at least a few degrees warmer than it is outside. Sans sidles up to your side again, but you hardly notice, glancing around the interior. It’s definitely got a restaurant-y, home-y sort of vibe. ~~You feel a pang in your chest: nostalgia.~~

You look straight ahead towards the actual bar, and freeze.

There’s... A man there.

A fire man.

Not a _fireman_ , but a _fire_ man.

Or monster...?

A snicker close to you makes you start, and Sans slightly nudges you, “heh, knew he’d catch your eye; he’s pretty hot, ain’t he?”

...Ha, ha.

That was dumb. You don’t even think he was trying.

...But you crack a smile anyway, and say, “Certainly lights up the room, I’ll tell you that.”

That... Was equally bad.

Still, Sans’s entire expression brightens (tsk) as though you’d just offered him the sun on a silver platter.

* * *

At first, he doesn’t even recognize you—and for a moment Sans futilely hopes he won’t.

But then the elemental’s golden glowing orbs narrow on you, intense, as though he’s trying to figure out a puzzle of sorts.

“...(Y/N)...?”

You’re obviously nothing short of bewildered, and you glance at Sans before returning your gaze to the other monster. “Um, yes?”

Grillby pushes his glasses up his fiery nose, crossing his arms over his chest tightly. Not an alarming action by itself, but for Grillby and his usually calm demeanor, it screams he’s shocked.

Then he looks at Sans.

“...uh,” Sans says eloquently in response.

“How,” is all the elemental utters. Not a question.

He’s obviously supposed to explain things to him.

The skeleton scratches at his cheek, sheepish. “i thought, uh, you’d know by now...?”

Grillby narrows his eyes further.

Oh, right.

He hasn’t talked to him at all since you’ve been found. It’s unlikely anyone else would tell him firsthand, either; only those closest to you would know right away.

“well. she’s... she’s not dead.” Clearly.

The other monster just quirks a brow, then huffs out what sounds like a sigh.

“...Alright. In any case,” he turns back to you, his expression softening, “I am very glad to see you back, (Y/N). We all missed you.”

Though the words alone didn’t mean much, Sans could tell his friend _had_ missed you—anyone who ever knew you had, that much was obvious.

So when you stare back at him, blank and a tad dubious, the elemental’s slight smile falls.

Sans winces.

“oh yeah. uh, there’s something else...”

Given everything, Grillby takes this news pretty well; he’s not disbelieving or upset, as far as Sans can tell. But while he seems calm overall, he certainly doesn’t look relieved about it either—if Sans has to really guess what he’s feeling, it’d probably be concern, above all else. On more than one occasion, when you engage in a conversation with him, his brows crease, like something about your words is bothering him.

“I see,” is his only quiet verdict, after hearing everything. You shift uneasily in the chair you’d set yourself on, your own gaze troubled just by the topic.

You’re trying not to show it, but if anything, _you’re_ the one upset here. You want to tell them a better explanation for everything.

But you can’t.

Seeing you in such a state unnerves Sans, so much so that his regular grin falters a bit.

You do mean well, despite how’d you reacted to ~~him~~ them before.

Part of him just wants to tell you it’s okay; that you don’t have to be sorry, none of it is your fault.

...But he knows it’s not that simple.

So he does the next best thing:

“anyway, speaking of all that,” he lazily goes on, cutting into the conversation easily, “we wondering if you could help us out, since she kinda needs a way to support herself.”

If Grillby notices the purposeful subject change, he doesn’t say so, uncrossing his arms as he prompts, “And what do you have in mind for me to do?”

“you don’t happen to be hiring right now, do ya?”

There’s a pregnant pause as Sans’s question sinks in, and for a moment, he's scared Grillby is going to decline...

But then the fire monster smirks.

“Frankly, I thought you’d never ask.”

Simultaneously, you breathe out heavily, as Sans chuckles in a similar form of relief. You sit up slightly, and Sans feels a bit lighter when you practically beam at Grillby.

“When do I start?”

You’re leading the way back outside, Sans moving to follow, when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

He glances back, meeting Grillby’s gaze—and falters.

His flames have dimmed significantly, and he’s frowning deeply.

“Sans, I... I will refrain from keeping you here much longer, as I’m sure both of you have more important matters to tend to but...”

The skeleton turns all the way around, facing him uneasily. Grillby folds his arms again.

“Something’s not right.”

He readily responds with a, “i know.”

“Do you?” asks the fire elemental, eyes narrowing once more. “Because I think there is more to this than you originally thought.”

Sans tenses, about to retort, but Grillby sets his hand on his shoulder once more.

“I am just worried, Sans,” he says softly.

Sans stops, his sudden anger fading.

“We both know she wouldn’t have left of her own accord. And to come back, without remembering...”

“...yeah. i know.”

Something is definitely not right.

“and i’m going to find out what,” he mutters, with just the slightest hint of a growl.

Grillby retracts his hand, bids him goodbye—as well as good luck—and Sans goes back to join you at the entrance.

* * *

“What was that about?” you ask him as he walks up, but he just faces you with a normal, casual smile.

“nothing,” he reassures you. “don’t worry ‘bout it.”

You frown back, and he notably glances away from you.

“You’d... I know you don’t really, know me that well, but...”

~~That’s a lie.~~

“...You’d... Trust me enough to tell me, if something was actually wrong, right?”

You don’t know why you’re asking.

But...

Sans’s expression softens, and he looks at you again, his eye-lights fuzzy (and wavering too much for you to be convinced).

“course i would.”

...You doubt that. Highly.

He just doesn’t want to bring you into... Whatever it is, that’s bugging him.

Though, you don’t press him, and push the doors open, heading back out into the sunshine.

“I, um,” you manage, almost too quickly. You stop until he’s by you again, blinking at you expectantly. “I should go.”

“oh. you want—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You smile at him, only a tad forcefully. “I’ll find my own shortcut.”

He avoids your gaze again, seeming almost sheepish, and you notice that same cyan coloring from earlier is covering his cheekbones. (Oh, is that how he blushes?) “you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Your smile fades, as more awkward silence spreads between the two of you. You decide you throw him a bone and speak up yourself: “This, uh... This was... Nice?” This time, you purposely look away, trying not to make it obvious on your face that you’re embarrassed. “I mean? It was kind of fun, we could... If it’s not too weird we could, err, do this again, but just a regular hang out? As friends??”

Oookay. If it wasn’t weird already, you sure as heck made it _now_.

“Never mind, that’s—”

“yes!”

...

...Huh?

“uh!” He clears his throat(?), and you’re reminded of when the phone call you had with him yesterday; there’s that same odd ~~happiness~~ ~~hope~~ enthusiasm. “y-yeah, i mean, sure, we can.”

...Okay...?

“Um... Until then, I guess?”

You turn to head back the way (you think) Toriel’s house is, only to hesitate, whip around, and give him what could barely be considered a wave but it’ll do, you suppose.

He meets your wave with a wave of his own, something... Weird in his expression, which you can’t quite place.

You just shrug slightly to yourself and turn around again to keep walking, your pace just a bit faster.

~~And just a bit lighter, maybe.~~


	19. Until Then

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Remember me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a normal chapter, nothing to worry about :)

**_Sans:_** _gm_

...What?

You stare blearily at the text for longer than you probably should, after having been woken up by the notification sound. (Remind future you to mute it at night.)

It’s currently only 8:31 in the morning, and happens to be the last time you want to get up at; part of you wonders why on earth Sans would be up this early in the first place, but eh...

Oh.

Maybe it’s a shortened version of good morning...?

Deciding to take the risk, you respond.

 **_You:_ ** _Good morning to you too!_

...

That... Was too much, wasn’t it.

Not a minute later your phone buzzes again:

 **_Sans:_ ** _how much coffee is bad for you_

You rub your eyes, blinking. Confusion makes your brows furrow.

 **_You:_ ** _What?_

 **_Sans:_ ** _a latte_

......

That.

Was so dumb, why are you laughing?

You make your way out of your room in a giggling fit, and honestly you’re not sure if it’s entirely because you just woke up and are a bit loopy. Frisk gives you an odd look when you enter the kitchen but otherwise says nothing, and you sit down in one of the chairs at the table, idly glancing back at your phone again...

And snort when you find a new one from him.

 **_Sans:_ ** _have an eggcellent day_

 **_You:_ ** _You don’t even know if we’re having eggs_

 **_Sans:_ ** _eh it’s free real estate_

You shake your head, a mixture of exasperated and amused; then your smile falters, as you feel the attention in the room shift towards you. Quickly, you whip your head around towards Frisk, startling them a bit.

“Um! Frisk, hey, so, I was wondering...”

The child takes their time with swallowing their toast before eyeing you inquisitively.

“The piano’s not off limits... Is it?

You... Probably shouldn’t be asking.

Ugh. Why didn’t you consider another, safer topic—

“No?” Frisk cuts into your thoughts. “Undyne uses it all the time,” they add, pausing afterwards to grimace slightly, for some reason.

“Oh,” you reply smoothly.

“...I mean. It’s yours, anyways.”

...It’s _yours_?

That... That can’t be right, you’ve... Never owned a piano.

~~Not that you can remember.~~

Frowning, you say, “Um, okay?” Don’t address it, it’s fine. ~~You’re probably wrong anyhow...?~~

In response, Frisk frowns deeper, and your gaze shifts from them uneasily.

Then, without words, you watch out of the corner of their eye as they hold out a hand to you.

You hesitate before taking it, rising from your chair, and they’re quick to follow.

“Come with me,” they say.

You stand in the middle of the room, trying not to stare too closely at them as Frisk rummages through a box. It’s easy enough, keeping yourself distracted; there are several more boxes, with various items and other memorabilia you figure are important to them in some way.

There’s a lot of pictures stored in said boxes, you notice.

Part of you wants to take a look, but...

You probably shouldn’t.

~~What good would it do, really?~~

“Found it!” Frisk announces suddenly, making you nearly jump out of your skin as you whirl to face them; they’re heading towards the piano, but it seems somewhat delayed, like they’d only decided they were going that way just a second ago. ~~Were they going to show you personally...?~~

They gesture with their arm for you to come over as well, so you oblige as they set up the paper on the piano in front of them, flattening and smoothing out the wrinkled sheets.

“Here,” they then say, proceeding to move to the far side of the piano bench, “play this song.”

“But I...” They stop and glance at you, eyes narrowed in determination, and your attempt at confidence wavers. “I’ve never played piano—I don’t even know how to read the...”

You swallow the rest of your words, uncertain. Their expression softens.

“See if you can do it,” they reiterate gently. “Just... Try it.”

You take a breath, slow and steady,

and carefully sit yourself on the bench, as though the slightest movement might break it.

You look over the music notes on the sheet. Contemplating them.

...

...

_Your soul remembers._

Sunlight is filtering in through the windows, lighting the keys in a golden shade.

Still looking at the notes, you position your hands.

You begin to play.

**

_You’re leaving the building, your hands intertwined with something. ~~Someone.~~ _

_The sun is almost done setting, by this point; the sky above is lit with hues of dark blue, almost purple, as the stars begin to come out._

_You hear a voice that’s not your own._

_You turn and smile, your eyes going to the direction of the voice._

_Faintly, you hear music._

**

Halfway through the song, you stop.

Your hands hover over the keys, the keys they’d been roving over almost perfectly just a few moments ago.

You’re shaking.

Frisk lays a hand on your arm, gently, and when you meet their gaze, they look almost as shaken.

“I-I don’t—” you start, only for your voice to crack.

You don’t know how that happened—what came over you. You don’t even truly recall _doing_ it; where it started, where it began...

Yet, somehow...

_But you don’t play piano._

~~Do you?~~

You practically stumble your way off the piano bench and away to the door, your heart racing at an impossible speed, only stopping as Frisk’s voice meets your ears again ~~a bit distant~~.

“I—you don’t have to... Believe us, (Y/N).”

They sound hesitant. Like they’re not really sure what to tell you, exactly, but they want to reassure you anyway.

“This is... It’s all a lot to take in, I—I know that. I’m not in your shoes. I don’t know what it’s like.”

No. They don’t.

“But, let me ask you something.”

Their voice hardens, suddenly.

Determination fuels them.

Your own dwindles.

“If _we_ supposedly don’t even know who you are, despite... Despite _everything_ , then... Who does?”

~~Not you.~~

“...I’m...”

You don’t turn to look at them, as your own voice cuts harshly into the silence.

“I’m going to... Go to my room.”

And with that,

you leave.

**

You stood on the sidewalk as dusk fell around you; you and the person beside you. The sun’s rays are dimming. _~~There’s not much time left.~~_ ~~~~

You met his gaze, fully certain of yourself.

You’re not going back, you’d said. You have something to take care of.

He looked uncertain himself, but...

_Don’t worry._

“I’ll meet you there.”

You pulled your hands from his.

He shifted his gaze.

...But he trusted you.

That much was certain, when he returned his sockets to you, and smiled softly.

“’lright.”

A pause.

“...until then?”

You beam, as bright as the sun itself.

“Until then.”

And then,

you were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song Reader plays is this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-INQw7IrT0
> 
> (i couldn't help myself ok)


	20. I Could Say It, But

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's your first day of work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay for exposition (and backstory, kind of)! but important exposition ;)

Papyrus scowls down at the pot of uncooked spaghetti he’s neglected, thinking to himself.

He should be happier. You’re back, that’s all that matters.

Sans is... Well, he’s not _as_ happy as he used to be, but he’s doing _better_. You two are making progress; you’re on good terms again! And he himself had helped with that!

He should be happy for the both of you!

...

But he’s not.

Everything about this... Everything he’s seen, everything he’s seen in _you_ , even upon not being around you recently compared to the others...

The thing is,

he and his brother are experts with souls, maybe more so than any other monster or human that he’s aware of. Granted, he’s not sure why—maybe it’s a skeleton thing, maybe it’s something else.

The point is, _they_ were the ones called on when anything that even remotely had to do with a soul came up. Sans, of course, had been named The Judge by the king. He was in charge of seeing through a person’s being, evaluating their every action.

Papyrus had had a similar, lesser known job, that he didn’t use much if he could help it.

He was supposed to judge others as well, but in a different way, of sorts. He was supposed to see through them, and determine what they _deserved_. What action would fit best for _their_ being, depending on what actions they had committed beforehand.

He could see their souls, plain as day. What they needed in the moment. What they could benefit from, even a little.

And using that, he’d give them what they needed.

You had been no different.

You were like Frisk when he first met you; fiery in spirit, and just as stubborn. You’d changed over the years—grown softer, almost, but your soul remained bright and steady as always.

He didn’t like to admit it, not even now, but he’d always had an inkling you were still alive, despite your disappearance. You’re tough. Motivated. ~~Too much so for your own good.~~

You’re still motivated, now.

But not in the same way.

Your soul is pulling you into two different directions, it seems.

Part of you wants one thing, the other something else entirely.

He wishes he knew what it meant, what directions you were being pulled into, but...

You’re also shutting yourself off.

And that isn’t something he can really help with: when your soul’s not willing to speak the truth.

Not willing to listen to his own soul, or anyone else’s.

...

Sighing, Papyrus blinks out of his daze, forcing his attention off this matter.

Only time will tell with you, he supposes.

~~He hopes that’s not an excuse.~~

* * *

You look up at the restaurant silently before stuffing your phone into your pocket, and pulling the doors open to step inside.

Almost as soon as you do, Grillby, who is wiping down some tables, turns to you, giving you a ~~warm~~ pleasant smile. “Good morning, (Y/N). I do still hope this time of day is good for you...?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you say quickly—even though you _still_ haven’t gotten much sleep, it’s not like it’s 6 AM or anything. (Not that it’d make a difference then, either.)

“Good.” He stands up straighter, rubbing his fiery palms together. “Shall we get started, then?”

You nod.

By noon you’ve managed to mop up the entire floor in record time; you offer to help him clean the tables and booths as well, but he refuses, instead opting to ask if you’d like to eat lunch there. For free, since you went to all that “trouble.”

To that, you refuse, and he goes on to pay you.

You receive thirty dollars from him.

“This is way too much,” you blurt out, trying to hand it back to him, but he just pushes it away gently.

“Nonsense; you did the work, at least half of it here is enough to reward that.”

“What’s the other half?” you inquire dubiously.

He winks, “A tip.”

...

Crap.

That’s...

“There’s got to be—this is—”

_How can you possibly—_

“A-all I did was mop!” you squeak, gesturing wildly around you, and the elemental monster laughs in response.

“Alright, alright, I’ll strike another deal with you.”

“Yes, please!”

“Start a tab here.”

You fall short of your assured response, mouth agape.

“Huh?”

“Start a tab,” he repeats. “You can have as much food here as you like, as long as you pay for it in the end.”

...That’s...

“Not nearly good enough,” you say bluntly.

But, much to your utter bewilderment, he just shrugs.

You...

You don’t know how to argue with this man.

Apparently you’re bad at arguing with _anybody_ about this type of thing.

I mean, it’s easier said than done to refuse somebody who _refuses_ to let their help be turned down.

So, you do the only thing you can do:

You laugh. (Totally not while tearing up.) ~~~~

“Thank you,” you huff out, eventually, and shortly after make your leave.

There’s absolutely no way you can repay them for any of this, but...

You’ll try.

When you turn in for the night later, you flop onto the bed with a sigh, tired from today’s events.

Said events flash through your mind: getting up this morning, Frisk continually giving you certain looks up until you leave for work, Grillby's strange kindness...

Not much even happened, and yet...

~~Maybe it’s your guilt.~~

~~Maybe it’s knowing you’re wrong.~~

Toriel’s been acting normal; she probably doesn't even know.

But you can also tell Frisk is aware of what you’ve been thinking.

They know they’ve gotten to you.

~~And it’s tearing you apart~~

It’s scaring you, somewhat.

~~You know you’re lying~~

You know you’re right.

~~Why are you~~

Why is it such a big deal?

~~Remember~~

You need to focus on your sister. She’s the key to everything.

~~Why do you think that?~~

Something flashes in the corner of your room. You sit up quickly, peering intently at the spot.

It’s empty.

But you hear a familiar voice, perhaps only in your mind:

_W h y d o y o u d e n y i t ?_

~~You’re not denying any—~~

_You don’t know._

You lay back down, ignoring everything else, ignoring your raging thoughts.

You feel a presence in the room, but you ignore that, too.

You're certain nobody believes you, in that you don't know them.

~~Not that you would believe yourself, either.~~

But what else can you do?

...

You really don't know.

Honestly,

at this point,

you're really not sure who you are anymore.

...

But surely,

 _they_ can't know, either...

...

Can they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader just doesn't question the strange prescence lol--


	21. Howling of the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your soul seems to have a mind of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so um,
> 
> i got way more comments on the last chapter than i was expecting to get and just?? that's so awesome, ah, i love you guys so much!!
> 
> to thank all of you, have an early chapter filled with even more confusion for your troubles! :D

You wake up to a new message from Sans, a bit later than yesterday but still rather early. It also bores the same message as yesterday, and the day before: just a "good morning" text.

You have a notion this might be a routine now, but, surprisingly... You don't really mind it, if that turns out to be the case?

Despite your previous misgivings about him, Sans is actually a pretty cool guy. You thought he'd be more stand-offish towards you—considering your "past relationship” with him, according to everyone—but he's not.

He's... Kind of nice.

~~You wonder—~~

_No._

Just because he’s your _friend_ , you should not being getting attached.

You don’t need anyone else.

_~~Liar.~~ _

“(Y/N), is everything alright?” Toriel asks you as take your usual seat. You suppose she must have noticed the dark circles under your eyes.

“Fine,” you snap, harshly.

Much too harshly.

So immediately, you babble out an apology.

(Not that you should.)

As you dig your fork into the eggs on your plate, you ask where Frisk is, as they aren’t present at the moment. Toriel says they’d gone to see Alphys.

And that reminds you, you should visit Alphys, at some point. Undyne too. ~~You should get to know them more, maybe—~~

No. If they want to see _you_ , that’s okay, but...

You’re fine without them.

Today was the same as yesterday, though you’ve neglected texting Sans this time. (You don’t know why you were in the first place; he got you that job, you don’t really need to talk to him anymore.)

~~Is he concerned about you, like he always seems to be?~~

You doubt he cares. (He shouldn’t know you that well.)

You turn off the light, curling up into the bed almost until you’ve curled around yourself.

You’re closing yourself off again. You know you are.

~~You shouldn’t, this is...~~

(And it’s a good thing.)

* * *

Sans doesn’t know what happened.

It’s the next day, having been a full day since he last heard from you, a full thirty hours since he last knew you were okay. And yet it hasn’t been that long. Something’s changed. Just... _Something_ , and he’s not sure what.

~~It’s almost like you just—~~

N o .

He’s called Toriel ~~more than once~~. You’re fine. ~~You have to be, he doesn’t know what he’d do if...~~

But she claims you’re getting “worse.”

Toriel is... Hard to read, sometimes. But by the way she said that he comes to the conclusion she thought you were somehow “bad” before, which doesn’t really make sense to him? You’ve been your fair share of rude but it’s not like ~~he’d ever stop caring about you~~ he minds it much.

Sure, he misses you.

Sure, he wishes you had missed him too, and would remember him. But...

...Maybe...

Maybe she meant your soul, if anything?

Maybe he can ask his brother. Maybe he knows what’s wrong with you.

~~It’s not like he does.~~

“THAT’S THE PROBLEM, SANS.”

His grin slips, just a little.

“I _DON’T_ KNOW.”

So he doesn’t know either, apparently.

Sans lets out a whoosh of breath, turning to go back to his room, thanking his brother anyway as such but—

“Wait.”

Papyrus’s voice is firm, but uncharacteristically quiet. He’s stopped mixing the cookie dough in front of him.

“You’re not the only one, are you?”

“...the only one?”

“To feel it.”

Sans shifts his gaze to his feet uneasily.

“You have felt it,” concludes the other skeleton.

No response. Just a slight slouching of his shoulders.

“...So, then...”

“...yeah,” he breathes. “yeah, that... that too.”

Something was definitely not right with your soul from the beginning.

Sans could tell as such.

Not only were you not wearing your ring,

but he realized you’re not bonded to him anymore, either.

“wish i knew why,” he laughs, none too humorlessly. Papyrus just continues frowning with concern. “it can’t be on her own terms, right?”

“Absolutely not. I _know_ she wouldn’t want this.”

“so somebody else was involved.”

Papyrus doesn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to say anything.

~~Sans already figured, even before this.~~

Uncertainly, Papyrus turns back to tending to the cookies, while the shorter skeleton stands as still as a rock behind him.

His eyelights flicker out, as he turns his gaze back to the ground with his usual grin.

Said grin tilts up again, wide, almost manic.

“sweet.”

* * *

Another day had gone by, of course.

You’re back in the guest bedroom, preparing yourself to go to bed. It’s rather windy tonight but despite that, you open the window, as you get hot much too easily during the night.

You slide under the covers, and it sounds like the wind is howling right in your ears.

You just feel... Numb. Unmotivated, somewhat.

...No.

You’re still motivated.

You still have to find your sister. She probably needs your help.

~~So does everyone here.~~

~~So do you.~~

You don’t need anything, or anyone.

The wind growls louder.

You pull the blankets and sheets over your ears, trying to drown it out, but it only seems to make it stronger.

The room appears darker than before.

You hear a notification from your phone. Not long after, it rings.

You don’t answer, nor do you check to see who it is.

(You know who it is.)

(You don’t want to talk.)

~~You’re lonely.~~

(Your soul is confused. You don’t remember anything.)

~~But it does.~~

(It can’t.)

~~Why is that?~~

(Because only YOU know who you are.)

The wind screams at you.

You jolt up in bed, your heart pounding violently in your chest.

You see a shadow slinking in the corner. The echoes of the wind somehow pierce your ears even louder.

Then, just as quickly...

The shadow disappears, slithering back into the darkness from which it came; with it, the wind suddenly dies abruptly, only echoes of it wafting through the dead of night.

At first, you hope that was just part of a dream, or your own imagination, but...

Your soul knows otherwise.

And _you_ know you won’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night.

So, you climb out of bed, and make your way downstairs.


	22. Reverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a "heart to heart" with Frisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I AM ON A ROLL, SO)
> 
> i was listening to [this cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTVnQlsA1_8) of the song See You Again and then this chapter happened
> 
> (also the title of this chap was a bit inspired by the song Fix You too)

You make your way down the steps carefully, one at a time, afraid you’ll trip and fall in the dark. The house itself is quiet, though you figure one of the windows is open, as you can hear the unmistakable chirp of crickets outside.

You tiptoe your way to the dining room, heading towards the table as you go to sit, when—

Your heart jumps to your throat as you caught sight of something— _someone_ already sitting there.

...Then, just as quickly, your heart jumps back down, and you let out a relieved _whoosh_ of breath as you recognize them.

Upon hearing said breath you’d let out, the child glances up, meeting your gaze.

They smile, slightly.

“Wh... What are you doing out of bed, Frisk?” you ask, coming around the table to sit next to them. They scooch their chair over to allow you room to pull out a chair of your own.

Once you’re settled, they say, “Couldn’t sleep.”

They raise a glass of milk you’d seen sitting in front of them, as though to prove their point.

You nod a bit, muttering a “Same,” and you see them smirk out of the corner of your eye. “But, why are you sitting in the dark?” you have to ask.

Frisk lets out a little hum before voicing their next words. “It... This is gonna sound weird, but it helps me think better.”

You pause. “I see,” is all you can say, for lack of a good response. Another hum merely comes from them.

For a few moments, the two of you sit in the dark in silence. Frisk swirls the milk in their hand like a brandy glass at one point, and in that moment, they seem much older than just a child; a lot more responsibility on their shoulders, it seems. More than they should have at their age.

...Not for the first time, you wonder how old they truly are.

You meet their gaze after staring at your lap for a while, and are a bit surprised to find their expression has changed—there’s something like concern, or uncertainty in the depths of their eyes, and you wait for them to ask a question they seem to have on their mind.

Sure enough...

“Can...” They kick their feet under the table, torn about something. “Can I show you something?”

You shrug to yourself, not sure where this is going; but after a bit of hesitation, you nod.

It’s their turn to hesitate, and they glance down at their chest. They set down the milk, and bring both hands to their chest, crossed over each other—they stare at you, intently, before removing their hands again, and...

You squint your eyes, the darkness in the room getting suddenly smaller. Did someone turn the lights on...?

No.

With their palms outwards, Frisk holds a small, but burning beacon of light in the shape of a heart.

Your head starts swimming, and for a few seconds, you’re just... Blank. Spots of white blurs your vision.

You try shaking it away.

When you come back to reality, Frisk is looking at you inquisitively yet worriedly; what just happened?

“Why are you showing me your soul?” you opt to question, disregarding that sudden lapse of... Whatever that was you just had.

The child’s gaze clouds with seriousness once more. “So, you know what a soul is?”

“Yeah...?”

“How?”

“Well—because, I...”

...

You...

Don’t remember how.

“I just do,” you say, uneasily, and they seem to understand. Their expression softens a bit.

“Do you know how to bring yours out?”

...What?

“Your soul,” they affirm, as though you’d said that last part aloud, “you... Can you show it to me?”

You blink back at them. They falter, the heart on their palms seeming to dim in its glow for a moment.

“...I mean, if... You don’t have to, I know it’s—I was just—I thought—”

“Sure?”

You’re _less_ than sure about any of this, actually, but...

~~This feels familiar again.~~

This time, Frisk blinks back at _you_.

“Um,” they say, “okay.”

“So... How do I... Bring it out?”

“Just do what I did.” They choose not to demonstrate, as they still hold their soul in their hands. You copy what you remember, but it doesn’t work.

“Oh—right—you have to concentrate; _think_ about pulling it out,” they explain. “Like, imagine it in your grasp. Imagine grabbing onto it and bringing it into your hands like I did.”

That... Seems simple enough. Alright.

You do the hand-thing again, concentrating hard this time; focusing, trying to imagine pulling your own soul out of your chest, and...

There’s a small _pop!_ of sorts, and suddenly,

you look down and a heart is floating in front of you. Your eyes widen. Is that...?

Apparently it is because Frisk makes some sort of exclamation that you don’t really focus on trying to pick up.

“Great! N...”

Their voice dies on their lips, the more their eyes zero-in on your soul.

Their happy expression fades, their surprised smile slipping from their lips.

“...Wh...”

“What is it?”

You look at your soul, confused. “What’s... Is something wrong with my soul?”

Panic starts building inside you.

“N-no!” Frisk cuts in quickly—too quickly. “There’s just...”

“There’s something wrong,” you conclude, your voice coming out shaky, and they pause briefly before shaking their head fervently.

“No,” they say again, “not...”

You wait, breath catching in your throat.

“...It’s... Not supposed to be so faded,” they finally say, quiet.

You study your soul.

It’s true. The color, normally meant to be as bright and shining as a ruby, isn’t nearly as vibrant, or as piercing as Frisk’s is; it’s muted, almost.

You don’t _feel_ any different, but...

This isn’t right. Not just from studying Frisk’s soul and comparing it to your own.

“It’s not supposed t-to be like that. His...”

Their voice cracked then.

Their eyes are glistening, like they’re going to cry.

“But I don’t feel any different,” you offer meagerly, as though to keep their hopes up, to cheer them up, somehow. But they just shake their head again.

“Y-you wouldn’t. You... Whatever—whatever happened to you you probably don’t—”

“Whatever happened to me?” you echo.

“...You don’t remember us.”

Their face seems paler, suddenly.

“Your—parts—don’t you see it, your soul’s not supposed to—”

“I know.”

You know it’s not supposed to... Look like that.

Those... Holes. Whatever they are.

“What else, though, is it supposed to look like?” you croak.

They have an answer:

“What it used to be.”

You know your soul isn’t normal, clearly, but...

Is that really...?

“Why else would it look like that now,” the child suddenly snaps, making you jump. Seeing your startled gaze, they shrink back, trying to calm their sudden fit of anger. “I’m sorry, but... You got to be kidding me, right? Right (Y/N)?”

“...I-I don’t...”

“Who else on this planet would know you. If you’re supposed to ‘not know us,’” they air quote, “why are _so many of us_ claiming to know you.”

They’re coming out as non-questions. You’re trapped. Still, you attempt, “Well—”

“This isn’t a game! I’m sorry, I’ve been patient, I’ve—it was okay in the beginning, but now?”

They gesture wildly at you, their soul forgotten, beginning to retreat to their chest.

“That soul _right there_ is proof! Don’t you get it?! Why else would we claim to remember you but you’re the only one who doesn’t remember _us_?”

“N—no—” you try again, meekly.

“I don’t blame you, for denying us at first,” they continue on, their voice taking on a desperate edge. “I don’t, that’s... I get it. But you have _all the facts_ laid right in _front_ of you. Of course you can believe in yourself, you _should_ , but—when comes the time to start believing in others? Are you just going to go through all of this ignoring us because you _think_ you know what’s best for yourself?”

Your mouth shuts with a tight click.

Frisk pauses to wipe at their eyes, probably dispersing of stray tears that have gathered.

“If everyone were to go through life that way, we’d end up nowhere,” they spit out when they’re done, the fire dying from their eyes, but determination still swirling within them. “You have to accept that others might know you better than you do, sometimes.”

You just stare at your hands, and your soul quietly, not uttering anything.

“There’s a lot of people who care about you, regardless of what you thought, or may think even now.”

Meeting their gaze, you choke in some air. Your soul bobs in front of you unevenly, almost sporadically.

Frisk pleads, “Let us help you. You... It doesn’t have to be all at once, you can—it can be a process, you can trust us one at a time, or something, but...”

They hold out their hand to you.

“You’re not alone. You don’t have to be.”

You shake.

“Please,” they whisper, “just... Try to believe us?”

You can’t.

You can’t you can’t _you can’t—_

Cupping your quaking hands back around your soul, you practically shove it back into your chest.

“I can’t, I’m—” Sudden tears blur your vision, and you hiccup, “I can’t, I’m so sorry, I—”

(You can’t.)

(Frisk is wrong.)

(They’re all wrong.)

(Only you know the answers.)

_(Ignore them.)_

You stumble your way out of the chair and up the stairs, a voice continuing to speak through your head, through your soul.

_(You will not remember.)_

Frisk, meanwhile, drops their hand back to their side, frowning deeply.

They’re not mad at you. They can’t possibly be. It's not your fault.

Something else...

Something’s wrong.

...Maybe they can fix it.

* * *

The next day, Frisk does something they haven’t done in quite a while:

They decide to visit Sans and Papyrus.

When they arrive, they are, of course, greeted enthusiastically by the taller, while the shorter just waves at them from the couch, rifling through a book he has opened in his lap. While Papyrus goes to make them his signature spaghetti as a gift for their sudden appearance, they trot their way over to Sans, plopping down next to him.

 _What’s that?_ they ask, pointing at the book. Sans gives them a lazy grin in return, not exactly reaching his eyes.

“heh, you know what it is,” he responds, just a tad quieter than normal.

Yes. They do.

It’s an astronomy book. One he gave to you, because you used to like astronomy, almost as much he does.

This book is one of the things he still likes having around, since you vanished that day—among other things.

Frisk makes a small nose of thoughtfulness, leaning over him to look at one of the pictures in the book. They’re not really focused on the book itself, of course; it’s just an act.

They turn, signing to him, _I talked with her last night._

“yeah?” is all Sans says. They nod.

_I... I had her show me her soul._

As expected, the skeleton stiffens, and they lean back onto their own side of the couch.

_You were right. All traces of your soul are—_

“why.”

They pause, then sign back about what he means.

“why did you do that,” he gets out, his smile tight.

 _Because,_ they continue nonchalantly, _I wanted to see what... Damage it had. It’s... There are pieces missing, it’s—it explains why she can’t remember._

Sans clenches his fists, eye-lights dimming as he turns slightly away from them. They tug on his clothes to make him look back at them.

_Her Determination has faded too._

Frisk can tell Sans wants to be mad at him, but can’t exactly bring himself to be. They knew he’d want to know about this; even if he didn’t like the idea of how they did it.

_I know you’re suspecting someone else was involved. I am too, I mean... There’s no possible way she could have done that herself. She **wouldn’t**._

“who, then?” he growls out, glancing away again.

“I have a couple of guesses,” they speak, softly.

A pause.

“Anyway, that’s... Not why I came here.”

They glance behind them, making sure nobody is listening in.

“If this is as serious as it is...” They turn back. “We can find a way out of it.”

They know he’s getting it.

They go on, “There’s still a chance, it’d just be a last resort, if we had to—”

“Frisk.”

They stop when they feel his hand on their shoulder. Instead of speaking, or signing, they just stare up at him expectantly.

“please,” he merely utters, his expression unreadable.

“...It’s just a last resort,” they explain, trying to assure him, their voice gentle. “I’m... Her soul, it’s... It’s not _terrible_ , there’s still a chance she could remember, but if... She didn't even...”

“no.”

His voice isn’t like it was, last time. He’s not mad like he was then, either.

His eye-lights are dim in his sockets, his grin looking as strained as ever.

“don’t reset. please.”

 _Why?_ was all Frisk could sign, not trusting speaking.

“there’s... she might not come back.”

“But what if she never—” they start hoarsely.

“ _kid._ listen to me, okay?”

He grips their shoulders surprisingly tight, looking desperate himself.

“i get that you just wanna help, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

“Sans—”

“please.”

He shakes his head insistently,

“there’s—there’s also a chance she might not—she might not be here again. please, kid. please, don’t do that to me.”

He continues shaking his head, muttering incoherently, almost to himself, his eyesockets welling up with tears.

“please, Frisk—just—p-please don’t take her away from me, i can’t—i won’t be able to handle it again, _please_...”

The human child delicately removes his hands from their shoulders temporarily, squeezing them.

“Okay,” they say quietly. “Okay, I won’t.”

Instead of moving away from their friend, they throw their arms around him, nuzzling their chin onto his one of his own shoulders as he hugs them back.

“I promise,” Frisk murmurs.


	23. Holding On To What I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [REDACTED]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (title is from Glowing Eyes by Twenty One Pilots)
> 
> this one be short, but important!

* *

You stood at the edge of the clearing, waiting for the others.

U̵͖̥̓ ̷̜̮̋̆̊̔̍̊ ̸̥͈͊ṇ̵̖́ ̶̛̪͙̖͖̍̄̿ ̸͑͝d̵̹͊͋̈͗͐͝ ̸̨̝̲̯̈́͛̑͘ ̷͛̒̓͑y̸̨̤̆͒ ̷̠͑͛́͗͘ ̵̝̙̘͖̍͐̿̈́n̵͚̟̬͑ ̵̳͈̜̍̓̃̓̿̋ ̸̛̣́̾͘̕͝ȩ̵͇̩̌̏̿̈͜ was carrying the picnic blanket when she jogged up to you, Ä̵̛͇̮̫̺͆ ̶̧̡͍͓̤̄̀̑ ̶̡̧̥͎̥͕͔͆̓ḻ̷̐̑͜ ̸̰̜͙͇̳̩̦̈́̈̊̈́͘͝ ̸̮̭̦̹̫̜̏̿͊̆̔͝ṗ̴̢̛͈͉̖̫͚̣̊͗͝ ̸̢͇̋͗̏̈́͝ ̶̯̣̉̿ḧ̶͚̙̺͖́̎̓͗ ̷̡̼̰͈̻̠̄ ̵͍̽̈́̎̽̔̈́y̶̢͚͓͚͉̬̌̿̋́̽ ̸̯͖͉͇̼͓̪̂̎̕ ̸͍͎̬̘̲͎̎̈́ş̵̫̅̇͗̽̌͘ not far behind; said yellow lizard was holding the punch in both claws, desperately trying not to spill it.

You smiled at them, and that smile broadened slightly, albeit in a nervous way as the former king walked over. You hadn’t know A̴̢̟̦̝̟͌̈́ ̵͍̗̌ ̵̆̿̑͂s̵͚͚̔̄̓̂͆͘ ̶͚̤͍̓̕ ̴̓ğ̷̍̈́ ̷̧̥̐̇͌̔̔̐͝ ̶͓͎̲͌̊̈́̚o̴͒ ̵̞͉͌̈͛́ ̸̛̠̰͇͖̗̠̈́́̈́̆r̷̼̳͌́̈͒̈́͝ ̵͊̆͌͗͜ ̸̳̮̽̊͆̈́̌e̶̤̖̹̾͆́ that long, but even now, he intimidated you somehow. It was silly, as he was anything _but_ intimidating when you got to know him more, and yet...

“HUMAN (Y/N)!”

Without warning you were lifted into the air, squeezed tightly by a pair of boney arms. You laugh and did your best to hug the skeleton back, before he set you back on the ground.

You still remembered the day you met P̵̢̼̲̟̰̗͕͂̃̈́ ̸̠̱̬͒̌͊̃̔̍͘ ̷̬̠̐̍̌͋̍̕ä̶̹̳̱́ ̸̛͔̣̮̭͜ ̵͓̯̱̞̏̀̉̋̎p̵̜͌̈́̽ ̷̢̹̩̙̱̭̄ ̶̡͙̺̏̿͛̓̒ͅỹ̵̩̩͂͒ ̷̖̰͗̒͠ ̴̛̟̯̈͒̄̉̓r̸̻̩̟͑̂͠ ̷͓͉̬̮̍̊͊̒ ̶͕̰̱̒u̸̢͖̲̗̾͊̍̆̍ ̵̪̆̀̑ ̴͎̦͙̟͌͑̓̂ṡ̵̯̳́͊. Even now, you two were pretty close. You’d helped him improve his cooking skills, and both of you shared a love for puzzles.

You looked around, back towards the car, and T̸̻͆͝ ̴̪̇͊ ̶̧̜͒o̷̩͎̔̂ ̸̪͉̄͆ ̵̣͕̈́r̵̬̕ ̴͚͝ ̵͔͎͆i̴͍͌̀ ̷͙̿ ̸͎͝ę̴̤̈́͝ ̶͚̓ ̷͍͌̅l̵̝̻͝ was bringing up the rear, the picnic basket slung on one of her arms. You greeted her pleasantly, and she gave you a hug. F̸ ̶r̴ ̷i̸ ̴s̸ ̴k̷ came not long after, tackling you with an embrace of your own, making you giggle. As they moved to join the others, you tried peering past them.

Then you frowned slightly.

Where was—?

That thought got interrupted as something slid itself around your waist, involuntarily making you yelp. You turned your head around, glaring at him, even as he pulled you against him.

“One of these days I’m going to dust you,” you told him blatantly, and he merely chuckled before nuzzling his teeth into your hair.

“nah, you love me too much.”

You wished you could deny that. But you couldn’t.

Instead you spun around, removed his arm from you—much to his protest—and planted a firm kiss on his forehead.

“Maybe,” was your simple assessment, grinning.

“OH MY GODS, YOU TWO!! WOULD YOU STOP YOUR CANOODLING ALREADY AND COME HELP US SET UP?!”

Ṣ̷̑̀̓ ̸̡̥͕͐a̵̡͒̒̉ ̶̮̃̓ṅ̴̙̙́̏ ̶̡̀s̴̼̦̆̊͑ laughed, you following suit.

...Then, without hesitation, you linked your fingers with your skeleton’s own.

Hand in hand, the both of you walked across the field to join everyone, while the stars glowed brightly overhead.

* *

You wake up with a pounding ache in your chest, blocking out any thought you might have had before.

~~What happened to you...?~~

The stars are shining much too brightly outside, much too bright to be normal; and you gaze at them with blurred vision. When you bring a hand up to wipe away the blur, you smear wetness over your cheeks and eyelids.

~~Why are you crying?~~

You don’t recall much of your dream. And when you try to think of it, the ache in your chest seems to get worse, the lump in your throat tightening even further.

Even still, in your confused, tired haze, the only thing you can think of now is just to try and go back to sleep.

So you try, flipping onto your side, pulling the blanket over you with a small _huff._

As you wait for sleep to claim you, you spend your time staring at the closet nearby, dark and looming a few feet away.

...You sit up suddenly, somewhat alarmed, but when you peer at said closet closer, nothing emerges. ~~You swear you saw something...~~

You lay back down and try the process all over again, this time closing your eyes for a bit.

When you open them, you sit bolt upright again. You scramble for your phone on the bedside table (Who would you have called then? Who would help you?) but drop it just as quickly as it starts screeching at you.

No, no, no—you can’t let it wake anybody up. ~~Why is it screeching anyhow?~~

But then, what are you supposed to do, there’s—

“L-leave me alone!” you cry out to the shadow. ~~Oh gods, is it coming closer?~~ “Please!” you add a moment later, almost pleading.

It doesn’t go away.

It just sits in the corner, staring at you.

You pull the blankets up over your head, trying to block it out. When you pull them back to see if the shadow has gone...

It stands at the edge of the bed. Blinking at you. Melting, dripping onto the carpet with its amorphous body.

You shut your eyes, but it does nothing to help. Especially when it speaks.

_Y o u k n o w ._

Your eyes flicker open.

The shadowy figure grins at you, its smile twisted upwards in feigned glee. Its eyes bear no glee.

“Know what?” you manage to croak out, somehow.

It blinks at you again.

_Y o u k n o w w h a t y o u m u s t d o ._

“What?”

_T h e y a r e w a i t i n g ._

The shadow turns away.

“Don’t leave!” you bark out, quickly. It spares you a glance, tilting its deformed head curiously in your direction.

 _S o y o u d o r e m e m b e r ,_ he states.

You reply shakily, “I remember you.”

Gaster smiles. The glee twists his face into something almost terrifying.

Then, he’s gone.

You stare down at your hands, clenching and unclenching. Your ragged breaths start dying out.

You glance over to the window, looking at the bright glowing stars.

And briefly, you remember the promise you'd made.


	24. Sleepless in Ebott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even after last night's weird events, you go back to Grillby's.
> 
> Meanwhile, Sans seems to hit a limit of sorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been getting even less sleep than usual (oof irony) so sorry if it's kind of klunky? (not to mention writing it gave me p a i n because i was being a major perfectionist about it--)
> 
> ALSO i haven't been exactly clear on this i guess but i just want to say, seeing all the theories and your guys' thoughts on this story really, truly makes my day, like. thank you so so much for being so invested honestly?? it's so fun to read the theories especially and ack! it's so hard not giving the actual plot away or saying how close/not close you guys are, i'm really trying to keep it as unobvious as possible lol
> 
> but seriously, thank you so much again!! love you guys <3

You're not entirely sure what it is; something's changed, though, following what just happened.

It’s hard to explain. It feels like... A weight has been lifted, in a way? Like one of your questions has been answered somehow, or, a missing piece of the puzzle has been found.

His name still haunts you, at the back of your mind. You’re not sure you’d remember it now; maybe only if you saw him again. But you remember _him_. He has some sort of significance in all this, and...

You need to find out why.

But not now.

Once again you’ve gone the whole night without sleeping, and it’s 8 in the morning, so whether you like it or not, rest or no rest, you have to get up and start your day.

So you do so, not without ignoring the new messages on your phone.

Throughout breakfast you continually rub at your eyes, trying to get yourself to wake up more. Your housemates, as always, notice your plight, and Toriel asks the question you don’t truly have the answer to: “Are you alright, (Y/N)?”

You could say yes, but that would be too easy. They’d see through it. Instead you just smile, shrug, and respond, “I will be.”

...That’s probably not any better.

“I’ve been having weird dreams lately,” you go on, trying to make up an excuse for her to not worry; so you don’t have to see her frowning at you in that way. “Nothing... Too bad, I don’t think. Just hard to get sleep.”

Toriel seems to relax, just slightly, and she folds her hands thoughtfully. “If that is all, I am sure I could help. We have...”

“No, no, that’s—” you start too quickly. “...It’s fine. They’re just dreams.” You have a feeling emphasizing that isn’t really helping your case, but. “I can just find ways to calm myself down at night, no problem.”

“Are you sure?” Toriel asks, sounding not at all convinced. You nod anyway, and reluctantly, she drops it; not without later advising you on a few things that could help you sleep better, like not eating right before bed. (Which you don’t even do.)

...No. You know she’s just trying to help you. There’s nothing wrong with that. (It’s annoying.)

You are glad Frisk doesn’t say anything to you that morning, though. (Seems they’ve truly given up. Good.)

You hope they don’t bother you about it anymore.

~~But you know they’re right.~~

Unlike last time you arrive rather early at the restaurant—probably too much so to be acceptable in a normal case? But Grillby is quick to greet you, as well as wave you in, so you assume it’s fine by him.

You get started on wiping the floors down first, forcing your fatigue to only be an afterthought. Your fingers are cramped just a little, though you ignore that too.

Not long into mentioned mopping, though, you hear the doors open. Naturally, you glance up to see who could be coming in at this hour, since normally nobody comes for breakfast.

You blink once, then twice, still trying to fully process in your currently insomniac mind.

Sans stares oddly back, then blinks a couple of times, mirroring your own ones.

Something even weirder flashes across his face, something you can’t quite pick out quick enough—and then it’s gone, and you feel even more awkward than before.

You glance to the side, just for a moment, but when you look back he’s...

Gone?

You whip around, searching out Grillby—maybe _he_ has an answer—and then you freeze because _Sans is freaking sitting right there at the bar, what._

“What the Hell?” you blurt to yourself, only halfway softening it, realizing how loud your voice had been at first.

You could go talk to him; stop being so weird and silently creepy.

~~But you’ll probably make it worse.~~

~~Plus he’s facing away from you, he probably doesn’t want to talk to you.~~

You go back to mopping, an entire new shade of bewildered washing over you.

* * *

Once he’s made sure you’ve stopped looking at him from behind, Sans spares you a small glance; only to glance away again quickly, yanking his hood up over his skull, face burning.

“uggghhhhh,” he grumbles, just as Grillby walks up.

The elemental raises a brow.

“Is something wrong?”

“’m an idiot.”

“...Is that all?”

Sans snorts despite himself, rolling his eye-lights at his friend. “wow, thanks, good to know you really care.”

Grillby chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Alright, joking aside... What is bothering you?”

The skeleton’s previous amused grin slips slightly, and he mutters something under his breath before responding. “am i a creep?”

The other monster stares at him blankly, almost expressionless. “I beg your pardon?”

Sans slouches further into his seat.

“i just... i mean...”

“Speak louder, Sans, you know I can’t hear you when you’re mumbling.”

“well, you know,” he scratches at his cheek abashedly, “it’s just... you know?”

He deadpans at him.

“No, I do not know.”

“oh,” is all Sans mumbles, wiping his forehead as he visibly sweats. Sighing, Grillby steps back from the counter.

“Well then. If you’re just going to be like this—”

“i only came here ‘cause i wanted to see (Y/N)?”

The fire monster pauses, his mouth tilting up slightly in amusement, noting the way Sans said it like a question; like he didn’t even understand himself. Still, he says nothing, and indirectly prompted, Sans continues.

“i just—uh—i know, tori said she’s fine but—i wanted to—”

“Slow down,” advises Grillby.

Slightly, he does.

“—she just—hasn’t really been t—i mean. not that, y’know, she needs to, ‘s probably—kind of dumb, w-we’re not even—but i was just—kind of worried? and i, know she works here now so, i just—but that’s, that’s kind of creepy, isn’t it, shouldn’t’ve gotten—”

“Sans.”

“that’s creepy, it is, i should—”

“ _Sans_.”

Said skeleton tugs on his hood slightly, looking all sorts of shaken up. Grillby’s gaze softens.

“I understand,” he assures him.

Sans stills, searching the elemental’s face for a moment—whatever he finds seems to satisfy him, almost comfort him, even.

“...just... i dunno.” He shakes his head slightly, “it’s... that’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb, Sans.”

“it _is_ , i just—i don’t wanna be seen as clingy, and...” He sighs, something sad filling his expression now.

“You just got her back,” Grillby states, “it’s understandable.”

“uh huh, right,” says Sans drily. Grillby’s frown deepens.

“Why don’t you think so?”

"’cause. she doesn’t need me, she’s fine.”

He runs a hand over his skull, slightly moving the hood off him,

“i just seem like i’m obsessed, or... or something. there’s just—... there’s no reason for it.”

Grillby shakes his head, but says nothing to deny him. It’d do nothing to change his mind, and he knows that.

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” he inquires, instead.

Sans peers up at him like he’d just grown another head.

Then he chuckles.

“isn’t she workin’?”

The fire monster once again deadpans.

Then he points in your direction, adding flatly, “Tell her I’m letting her off early.”

Sans snorts again, but doesn’t move.

“Go,” orders Grillby.

The skeleton rolls his eyesockets, then hops off the bar stool; forcing himself not to hesitate.

When he walks up to you, you’re more or less leaning against a booth with the mop, presumably taking a break. You’re not facing him, so you haven’t seen him yet, and he seriously considers just shortcutting away and forget the whole thing.

But he does the adult thing—that being an awkward show of clearing his nonexistent throat to get your attention. You whirl around, startled, but relax when you see him.

You fumble for your response, letting out a meager, “Hi?”

Sans only then remembers to pull the rest of his hood off, trying to will his embarrassment away as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “hey.” Oh wow, that wasn’t so bad, he didn’t even stutter that time.

“How...” He perks up when you start asking something. “How, um, are you?”

“fine,” he goes on to squeak out.

And that’s it. There goes any chance he had.

You smirk slightly, uncertainty briefly fading. “Really? You look kind of tired.”

Yeah, well, so do you.

...

...Seriously, though.

Are _you_ okay?

You don’t look much better, really; there are dark circles under your eyes that match his, and even while looking at him, your eyes seem unfocused.

“So,” you cut into his worried thoughts, “what are you doing here so early?”

Oh.

He...

He should just be honest.

“i’m...” He sucks in a breath, trying to ease the slight, sudden panic thrumming in his soul. “...gonna go get something.”

With that, he spins around, taking a shortcut back to the bar. With a sigh he sits himself back in the seat he was just in a few minutes ago, and not a minute later Grillby strides over, arms crossed as he stares sternly at the skeleton.

“What was that?”

“nothin’,” he mumbles, “just tired.”

“...You know it’s alright to miss her, Sans.”

It’s really not.

“You _know_ that, don’t you?”

“...sure.”

Grillby frowns.

“Nobody is going to blame you for wanting to see her, or spend time with her. Do not beat yourself up over something that isn’t worth the trouble.”

Sans just shakes his head, laughing to himself quietly.

“why not? it’s funny.”

The fire monster doesn’t reply.

And Sans merely grins ruefully, resting his skull in his arms on the counter, not paying any mind to the faint footsteps behind him.

“’s funny how pathetic i am,” he chuckles.

He doesn't notice you're now there next to him.


	25. Do You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More or less, you cheer Sans up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> progress [question mark]???
> 
> also i should not be allowed to have tags--

You’ve always been impulsive.

Even in your current situation; even when you don’t remember entirely, or truly believe yourself or others, you still recall that part of you.

So without doing much thinking, you take a seat on the barstool next to Sans, silently observing him for a moment. You’d overheard Grillby and him discussing something—something that involved him being pathetic, for some reason?

Well, you’re of the opinion that’s wrong no matter what context, so you say bluntly, “I know humor is subjective and all but I’d have to disagree strongly.”

Sans had turned to you the second he heard your voice, and by the time you’re done saying your piece he manages a small, “what?”

...Right, that was probably a weird response from you.

It just... Seemed like the right thing to say in that moment? Almost like you expected him to react a certain way, or...

By any consolation, Sans seems both bewildered and somewhat amused by your words.

“gee, you sure know how to cheer a guy up,” he points out sarcastically, even though his grin tilts up with mirth.

So, based on that, your intuition must have been partially right, at least. ~~But how did you know it’d work...?~~

You smile slightly back at him, and he appears to relax further. “Sorry. Um...” Your previous odd boldness wavers, and your smile disappears. “I’m not... Good at being comforting?”

His eyesockets narrow ever so slightly, and he looks like he’s about to argue, for whatever reason—but then he opts to glance away again, sheepishly. “...i’d have to disagree strongly.”

You snort at his repetition of your own statement. “Uh huh.”

“’m serious.”

After a few seconds, you blink.

Okay, so he is serious.

But why? You’re probably the last person people would go to for a cheering up of sorts; you can’t even be nice to the people who are nice to you.

...You wonder if there’s something else to this. Something he knows that you don’t. ~~There has to be, Frisk did say—~~

You frown, clasping your hands together on the counter. You notice Grillby has disappeared, presumably to the back of the restaurant.

“So,” you say, suddenly. You purposely avoid looking at him, but feel his eyesockets on you. “What’s... What’s bothering you?”

He lets out what sounds like a sigh. “nothing.”

You lean back, and study him wordlessly, pursing your lips.

“I don’t think so,” you state honestly.

Unsurprisingly, Sans glances away from you, clearly reluctant.

It’s not your business. (Don’t.)

...But, he’s still your friend. (That shouldn’t matter.)

The least you can do...

“Okay, um.” You fiddle with your hands. “...My... Earlier point still stands. I’m not good at this kind of thing, and... I’m the last person you should, y’know. Talk to about—whatever it is. ...Especially if it has to do with...”

You stop yourself.

“But, I’m... I’m still—I’m trying, to do better with, with how I handle things.” Sweat begins to bead on your brow. “That’s ob—that’s obviously not an excuse, for anything, but—”

“you’ve been fine.”

You stop.

You look at the skeleton beside you questioningly. He’s not meeting your gaze.

“it’s... it’s fine, really, i get it,” he goes on quietly. “we don’t... don’t know what happened to you. even if we did, that’s—it’s fine, we should get why you don’t trust us.”

“No,” you say, “no, that’s... That’s not the point. It’s—it’s how I’ve treated everyone, treated _you_ , when...”

“’s fine.”

...

Frown deepening, you reach a hand out to him, before hesitating and thinking otherwise.

“You’re just saying that.”

He shakes his head quickly. But you can tell.

He’s making excuses for your sake.

He doesn’t care how rude you’ve been, or how much he has to put up with it.

He’s...

“Why?”

You’re trying to understand.

~~Why would he do that for you...?~~

Trying to make up any other reason.

~~But Frisk said—~~

You’ve seen the obvious. You’ve seen evidence.

You know it. You’re still trying to make sense of your emotions and what you think is fact, even now, but you _know_ it.

~~You’re wrong.~~

They’re right.

And you owe them an apology. Everyone.

...

But you’re not going to dwell on this. Or make it seem like something’s wrong.

~~Never again.~~

You force a smile.

You’re going to try, at least _try_ , to make up for everything.

So you wave Grillby over, before turning back to your companion.

* * *

“What kind of food do you want?”

Sans stares at you, attempting to understand your sudden determined expression. “huh?” he practically croaks.

You just grin, folding your hands neatly in front of you. “I’m thinking about getting some fries. How about you?”

He continues, and your confidence falters for just a moment—though enough for him to notice.

“uh sure, yeah, fries... sound good?”

“Sweet!” You beam at him (what the heck?) and face the newly-returned Grillby, relaying this information to him. Upon his leave you once again direct your attention to Sans, though he chooses again not to look you in the eye.

And then he jumps as you clap your hands together excitedly. (Again: what the heck???)

“Oh, by the way, almost forgot!” you chirp. “Could you give me Alphys’s phone number?”

Sans almost snorts in disbelief. “wh-what?”

“Alphys. You said she’s a scientist, right?”

“uh, no?”

“Okay well whatever—I think she’s a scientist, so? Can you give me her number?”

What’s gotten into you? Do you even know what you’re saying, at this point? Because you look like you’re just winging it and making it up as you go.

~~Not that he’s complaining.~~

“suree?” he drawls, handing you his phone a bit curiously. You scroll down for a moment before taking your own phone out and copying what he assumes is Alphys’s number from his onto yours. Then you push his phone back.

“Thanks!” you say without looking at him, your eyes glued to the screen of your device.

At least you seem distracted; because he really hopes you’re not paying attention to the fact he doesn’t respond.

Nope, he’s too busy trying not to let himself freak out over something as dumb as this—which is hard, because his soul would rather rebel against him. And his face.

And he just _knows_ he must seem a mess because Grillby gives him _a look_ as he reappears from the back.

You thank the fire elemental for the food as he passes you your plate; Sans internally knocks himself upside the head in order to take hold of his own plate.

He also gives Grillby a dead stare, just for good measure.

If you see it, you make no comment.

To keep his mind occupied Sans takes to shoving a fry in his mouth, and it is then you choose to add to Grillby, “Oh, by the way, put it on my tab.”

Sans nearly spits it back out, but manages to refrain from it.

Somehow.

“ _what_?” he chokes out, once he’s swallowed, and you just shrug in response.

Okay. Sure. He can believe you have a tab now, that’s not the problem here.

_But why are you using it._

That’s— _he’s_ the one who should be—!

But Grillby’s already _gone again_ , so it’s not like—

_Wait a minute, is he **okay** with this?!_

_Was—was this **planned**?!_

Letting out a prolonged, utterly confused sigh, Sans buries his head in his hands.

* * *

You notice Sans isn’t eating his fries, so you nudge his shoulder gently, stuffing a couple into your own craw.

“Hey, the food’s not gonna eat itself.” I mean, it’s really good—it’s almost melting onto your tongue. Monster magic, probably?

The skeleton grumbles out something in response. He’s purposely facing away from you, and briefly, you wonder if you went too far, but...

“...thanks.”

You blink, midway through grabbing another handful of fry. “For what?”

“doin’ this.”

“It’s the least I can do,” you tell him.

It really is.

Especially after what he’s done for you.

After that, you two sit mostly in silence, Sans grabbing fries from his own plate every once in a while. You’re done with yours but you see that his are still steaming, so you wonder if that’s tied to magic as well.

“hey.”

You perk up, having known him to be quiet this entire time, and hearing the question in his voice. “Yeah?”

“wh... why do you—it’s... you don’t, have to answer, if you don’t want to but...”

“Mmm?” you prompt.

“what do you need al’s number for?”

You freeze.

“Um... Science?”

There’s a pause before he chuckles a bit. You don’t really hear the humor in it, though. ~~You know it’s forced.~~

“no, r... really.”

He sounds almost... Worried.

And you feel like it might... Change, depending on your answer.

So you say what you know you have to:

“Just some stuff I want to look into. It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He shouldn’t be concerned, though. It’s your problem. (Don’t involve him.)

“...alright.”

You fidget, further detecting the uncertainty in him.

Then you stumble off your stool, almost tripping over your own feet. You yelp out an “Um—!” as you steady yourself clumsily, before whirling to face him again, a few inches shorter now that you’re on the ground.

“S... Sorry? But. I need to... Go.”

Smooth.

“uhh,” is all he says, for a moment.

And for another moment you just stand there, awkwardly waiting to see if he’ll add on to that.

“...bye.”

“I’ll, uh. Text you when I get back.”

...Why does he need to know that?

You decide not to make it any weirder then it needs to be and wave, before quickly fleeing to the doors, shoving them to get out.

That...

Could have gone better. Seriously.

And you didn’t really ask Grillby if you could leave yet; you don’t know if you were ever on _break_.

You didn’t even get your money.

“Crap,” you grumble,

while you walk down the sidewalk back to Toriel’s house.

Eh.

Money, no money, whatever. You have the feeling Grillby won’t mind.

...Plus, as odd as that was, it was a start. ~~~~

So at least you’ve got that going for you.

You’ll make it work. All of it.

You promise.

_(Now how long can you keep that one?)_


	26. Still Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A roadblock seems to have been cleared.
> 
> (Except not really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more plot, are you guys ready
> 
> ~~sike, you'll n e v e r b e r e a d y~~

Sans shuts his bedroom door sluggishly behind him, only after that choosing to use his magic to shortcut him onto his bed. And for a few moments, he spends his time merely lying there on his back silently, his gaze on the ceiling.

You said you were going to text him again.

You still want to talk to him.

You’re still...

Why does that... Mean as much as it does?

Sure, when you first sat down, he wasn’t expecting you to really... Treat him like you did. ~~Like he deserved that, especially from you.~~ He’d expected you to be more cold, or something. Maybe... Tell him off. ~~You should have.~~

But you didn’t.

You... You even said you’d continue to text him.

Sort of.

At least, you implied you might? ~~Why would you?~~

But gods, he hopes you do. He really...

...Heh.

He’s such a mess. He probably is obsessed.

Just the vain idea of you doing something as small, and insignificant as sending him a dumb message...

You wouldn’t believe him if he told you how happy it makes him.

Even he doesn’t quite believe it.

He really shouldn’t be this happy. It’s ~~selfish~~ stupid. You ~~probably won’t~~ might not even hold to your word.

But still.

Still, Sans lies there, even as his nonexistent throat clenches, even as his vision blurs and he lets out a laugh that’s not really a laugh.

He still _feels_ happy, right now, in this moment. His tears escape his eye-sockets but he doesn’t _feel_ quite as sad anymore. Pained, but not sad.

It does hurt.

But it’s a good kind of hurt.

Trying to wipe away the wetness on his cheekbones, he fumbles in his pocket for his phone and pulls it out.

There’s a new text.

**_You:_ ** _sorry for being weird there I swear I’ll do better lol_

**_..._ ** _ok that right there was probably even weirder sorry_

_Im apparently bad at communication in general????_

His vision blurs again, and his hands shake as he types out a response of sorts.

**_Sans:_ ** _i think youre great_

Rereading it, he can’t even bother to feel embarrassed or disgusted with himself. He doesn’t know what’s come over him. Maybe an after-effect of this, that’s only just now hitting him, or something.

Even so, his entire body seems to shake, and his soul twists with an agonizing concoction of adoration and anguish.

He wishes he could formulate the words to explain; or paint a picture—paint a _beautiful_ image, describing _everything_ , describing how much you mean to him—describing all that is _you_ in his life.

But he just can’t. It’s a pipe dream.

Nothing he can do, or say, or describe, will do it justice.

It physically _hurts_ how much he loves you.

...And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to truly show you that.

* * *

As you somewhat promised, when you returned to your surrogate room at Toriel’s, you sent Sans a text. Or a couple, maybe. And you’ve been more or less (not literally) scratching your head over his own message he sent back.

It was... Nice? Sweet, even?

But, not really warranted? At least not in that conversation? Because that seemed like a kind of sentimental thing to say to you?

Still mulling it over, a knock raps against your door. “Come in,” you call, and Frisk comes bounding in, slightly to your surprise. You perk up and greet them as they hop onto the bed beside you, looking clearly ready to bring something up. “Hey, uh... What’s going on?”

They pause, and their hands twitch, like they were going to sign something—instead they seem to realize that mistake and say, “Mom says it’s time for dinner.”

“Oh. I’ll be down in a few, then.”

Expecting that to be it, you go to pick up your phone again, but you feel a hand tug on your sweater. You cock an eyebrow and turn your gaze to them again, only to see their guilty, almost ashamed expression. “H-hey,” you begin worriedly, “what’s—”

They cut you off by practically launching themselves into your lap, their arms quickly closing around your torso. You hastily look for something to say when a sudden sniffle breaks from them, and you immediately hug them back. (Don’t you have better things to do?)

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” the child blubbers, their tears soaking into your clothes. “I—I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that but I just—when I saw your soul...”

“Hey, hey,” you rub your hand up and down their back comfortingly. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.” (You should be.)

Still, they carry on, “I panicked and—I just wanted you to remember, it’s... It’s so hard—I know I’m being selfish but it’s just, it’s hard, you don’t remember anything and it—it really hurts sometimes, I know that’s not your fault but—”

“Shh,” you try to placate gently, but it doesn’t work.

“I just wanted you to remember—I wanted you to remember everyone, so—so things could go back to normal. But they can’t, so—I thought maybe I could re—”

Both of you freeze, maybe you more so. After a moment, Frisk pulls away, wiping at their eyes, said eyes gleaming with apprehension, like they’d just done something truly awful.

But you know what they were going to say. ~~It’s not their fault, you know that.~~ (Isn't it?)

“You thought you could reset,” you finish for them.

Every part of the child’s being seems to falter, and you half expect them to make a break for the door. You sit there, waiting for their response patiently—knowing the weight of the knowledge you’d just shared with them. (Why bother with them?)

There’s silence, for a time.

Then...

“You remember?”

Their voice comes out like a croak, broken, and somewhat scared. You nod. You do remember; the basic idea, at least. Not the details.

“You told me about your reset powers,” you confirm for them. You think they did, anyway.

“...But... Why do you—”

“I don’t know.”

You don’t know _why_ you remember that, of all things.

But now that it’s come to you...

Now that you recall it...

(This is all wrong.)

~~You know them—~~

You̶ sti̶ll have ̴to find̶ yo̵ur sist̴er.

You still need to move towards that ultimate goal. ~~Do you?~~

...But at least, you know part of who you were. (It doesn’t change anything.)

You force a smile at Frisk, and rise from the bed. “Let’s talk about this later, okay? I’m pretty hungry, I only had fries for lunch.”

The child looks a bit perturbed yet, but mumbles quiet agreement before following you into the hallway and downstairs.

* * *

The sun sets in all its glory behind them as they make their way up the slope, only a pencil and paper in their hands. They hesitate before the mouth of the cave, considering whether or not they should start elsewhere; ultimately they decide this is where they want to start, despite the fleeting doubt that overtakes their soul—they _really_ hope this doesn’t end up like last time. They haven’t brought the rope with them (they didn’t want to be obvious about their whereabouts), and they don’t want to have to traverse the entire cavern back to this spot again.

For both his sake and theirs, Frisk silently prays Flowey will give them the benefit of the doubt this time.

Walking through the jagged opening, they breathe out a small sigh, as they try not to get too down as they walk over the grass patch; which notably does not host the plant they’re currently looking for. They pause a moment, glancing around at their surroundings. The small space looks as barren as ever, not to mention a bit dusty. (They try not to shiver at that.)

“HEY!”

And just like that they jump several feet into the air, whirling around to face a very smug-looking flower sitting in the grass. Okay, they admit, he caught them _that_ time. But _Never again,_ they sign with a dirty look, not breaking their glare even as he rolls his beady eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So what do you want?” he snipes bitterly.

Tapping their fingers together, Frisk pauses before moving their hands: _I need your help with someth—_

“ _Me_? Help _you_?”

It’s their turn to roll their eyes, and they continue unfazed. _It’s something about a friend of mine._

“Oh, don’t tell me this is about Smiley Trashbag again.”

_His name is Sans and no, it’s not about him. ...Specifically._

Flowey snorts. “Specifically?” he echoes.

_He’s still involved._

“Ho—”

_It’s about (Y/N)._

For the first time, he seems to be taken aback, shrinking slightly in the dirt. Then... “I thought she was dead,” he says flatly, none too sympathetic. Frisk’s gaze hardens.

_She’s not, apparently. She’s back, and—_

“And _what_ , you want me to come back with you or whatever? Come see the happy family all-together again? Gee, that’s really swell, I bet Smiley’s _real_ thrilled—”

 ** _No_** _,_ they say more empathically, _I need you to help me figure something out._

Frisk stares him down, before dropping to the ground in front of him, crossing their legs and making sure their notepad and pencil are at the ready in their lap.

Then, they raise their hands once more:

_Tell me about Chara._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody (or something) in this chapter seems to have an issue with Frisk. i wonder if you can solve who it is :)


	27. What Once Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You hear echoes of the past._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ready for more yet? c:<
> 
> ~~(totally not a Hamilton reference)~~
> 
> and also, can i just say,
> 
> writing cryptic/sad stuff is my favorite thing, like seriously, it's so fun--

Flowey watches Frisk frown down at their notepad, rereading the few notes they’ve written down.

“ _What_?” he sneers.

The child studies him. Searching.

 _Clearly, you didn’t understand what I said,_ they sign boldly, causing him to make something akin to that of a hiss.

“Are you braindead?! I told you everything I—”

 _You didn’t._ They pause, as he hesitates. Their newfound drive makes them add, _You just said all the surface details. You reiterated what you’ve already told me before._

“Well, I’m not lying!”

_No, you’re not._

“And you were taking notes!” he points out irritably. “I saw you!”

They hum in agreement. _I was, but I wanted to hear it from you first. I could have written them down myself without you._

Flowey scrutinizes them, still looking anything but pleased at their accusation—mainly because he’s aware that they’re right. And he _really_ doesn’t want to admit such, but eh; might as well get it over with now.

“Fine,” he snaps.

Then stops. Again.

...

What _does_ he know, truly?

He knows Chara was... Abrasive, at times. They had a hard time with “feelings,” as they put it once.

They were cold. Distant. In a lot of ways, simply... Rude?

But it wasn’t intentional? He saw that. He knew them more than anyone else knew them. They had faults, yes, but...

They’d still been his best friend.

And he wouldn’t trade them for anyone else, even if...

He figures he must have been saying all of this aloud without realizing, because Frisk nods slightly before writing something down in their notes. _Did Chara ever do anything..._ Frisk pauses again, apprehensive. _They weren’t **bad** , were they?_

He... Has to think about that.

He’d never known what truly happened to Chara before they fell, but he knew they despised humanity with a passion, more so than any monster ever could. They’d been unstable, to say the least.

...

They had morals, they had beliefs. They were sometimes twisted, yes, but...

“They... Wanted to do the right thing,” the flower murmurs.

Frisk stops in their writing, glancing at him curiously but intensely.

“They had a weird way of doing it, I know—but no. Chara wasn’t bad.”

_Are you sure?_

“Positive,” he affirms seriously.

And he means that. He really does.

* * *

But, is he just saying that because his own morals are messed up now? Frisk has to ask themselves that. He may be genuine here, but that doesn’t mean he’s not looking at his old friend through rose-colored glasses.

They decide to make a note of it, to think over it later.

* * *

_(Y/N)’s soul pulses with something... Strange._

Flowey watches their movements carefully as they sign at him. They’re getting tired, clearly—and it’s no wonder. It’s a bit past evening, heading into nightfall at this point, and ~~his~~ Toriel is certainly going to be worried.

Even so, the child goes on.

_I... Don’t really know how to explain it. I just know it’s there, I can **feel** it. It’s like a... Like, something’s driving her to make decisions, or something. That’s why she’s so vehement about not... Not remembering anything. I think something’s **telling** her not to._

The flower ponders over this, for once taking it in the way they want him to. He’s long since given up trying to derail them, they’re too determined for that.

And, if he’s being honest... He’s a bit interested in this mystery himself.

“But what does this have to do with Chara?” he asks, even though he partially knows the answer.

As expected, Frisk glances away uneasily.

_It’s... I’m not, saying for certain that it’s them, but—_

“You think they’re messing with her, somehow.”

_It’s not **just** that, there’s—this whole thing is really... First she disappeared, nobody saw her or anything, and—and that’s a little weird, isn’t it, there—_

“Slow down, will you?”

_—I think—I think somebody’s... Somebody’s involved._

They’re shaking, now; trembling, almost.

He senses something coming from their soul. Something like...

“...Frisk.”

They look back at him steadily, but pleadingly.

_Please help me. Please._

They’re scared—no, terrified.

Flowey has seen Frisk like this before, but only once or twice. ~~And it scares him too~~ It unnerves him, to some degree, seeing their determination shaken like that.

He scowls, and turns away from them, lowering himself a bit into the grass. And a very distant part of him relishes in the absolutely aghast expression they bear in response out of the corner of his eye.

...But...

Things have changed since then, he thinks. Whether for the better, or worse. Whether for his benefit or everyone else’s—he’s learned it doesn’t really matter. (Nothing ever did.)

So there’s only one thing left to do here.

“Chara is straightforward, usually. And from what you described, that doesn’t sound like something they’d do.”

The child perks up, just slightly. Relieved in more ways then one as they quaveringly sign, _So it’s not them?_

“Well, that doesn’t mean I’d rule them out. They still might have a hand in at least some of this.”

He studies their form, relatively small even as they’ve grown over the years. Then, his scowl deepens.

“Be careful, whatever it is. I know how dumb you can be and the _last_ thing—”

He cuts his words off into a squawk as Frisk suddenly dives forward to attempt to wrap their arms around his too-little and thin stem, and their efforts only result in them almost meeting the ground face-first as he shrinks back into the soil. He pops up a moment later behind them, glaring at them with as much hatred as he can muster.

And they just beam, before formulating their next words. _Thanks, Asriel._

His answer is to spit at them and make his final aggravated disappearance into the earth.

Still, Frisk is pretty satisfied with their findings, and gathers up their discarded items to head back home.

* *

_He didn’t know how long it had been since ~~he’d first lost you~~ ...You’d been gone._

_But he could still hear the ringing of your laughter in his mind._

_Your voice._

_He could imagine your soul, even, burning bright and steady— **determined**._

_Now..._

_Now, he might never get to see your soul again._

_Never get to see **you** again._

_He tried ebbing the pain, somewhat. Spent some time with Papyrus, working on puzzles. Gone down to the lab with Alphys. Baked with Toriel. Sparred with Undyne._

_...Practiced piano._

_He used to love playing piano._

_Heh, he... He was pretty new at it, and barely knew how to play it—really, he probably couldn’t if his life depended on it. But it was nice. It sounded nice, even if he didn’t do it quite right._

_And it reminded him of you._

_...It still did._

_He missed you._

_He missed you so, so much._

_Maybe..._

_Maybe you could see him, now._

_Maybe you were in a better place._

_Maybe, he’d like to think—maybe, you were still alive somewhere, thriving, doing better away from him, not so troubled anymore. Maybe you found what you were looking for._

_...And maybe you were dead._

_Maybe you’d wanted to be dead. Maybe death to you was better than staying with—_

_Maybe you were finally happy, wherever you were._

_He hoped so._

_That was all he ever wanted for you._

* *

You stare almost forlornly at the piano in front of you, tracing your fingers over the little dents and scratches it’s collected over the years.

Distantly, you recall an old classical piece you ~~used to~~ know. Something very familiar, but just out of reach. Something you think you practiced for, over and over again, for a special event. You hadn’t expected to use your own piano, then. If they would let you, just for the ceremony, you’d expected to borrow one from the...

...Why.

Why do you remember all of that?

Why had they brought _your_ piano to that event? Who brought it?

What event was it?

Who else would have—

You jolt upright and off the bench as the door swings open, and a messy, disheveled-looking Frisk makes their way into the room. How long have you been here? Why did you stay here, you’d heard from Toriel Frisk was missing, you’d gone to search for them but how long has it—

Oh. You remember.

You’d stayed, after Toriel came to check on you, upon you not coming to tell her if you’d found Frisk. She was probably distressed enough already, without you...

...

What’s...

What’s wrong with you?

You look out the window to your left. The stars and moon are out.

It’s late.

You’ve been in this storage room, or whatever it is, since sunset.

You breeze past the child on your way out, not even hearing the question you think they asked you (Did they?) and proceeding to jog up the stairs. You practically fling yourself into the guest room, slam the door closed again, and lean against it to take a breather.

...Well.

That was a mess.

You need to go back and apologize.

That’s what you promised.

You’d do better.

You will.

It’s just...

...

_Y o u s e e m c o n f l i c t e d , ( Y / N ) ._

You step back from the door, walking forward, further into the room. You turn around fully, backing away, facing the large, dark figure in the closet with a pointed gaze.

“You seem to like coming into my room,” you retort. “Got a reason, _Gaster_?”

His twisted grin just tilts up further, and he looks amused by your blatant usage of his name. You don’t care.

“What are you doing here?” you demand.

He merely cocks his head, while his voice echoes through yours:

_I a s s u m e d y o u w o u l d k n o w t h a t f o r y o u r s e l f b y n o w ._

“Know what?!” Your voice raises—whether out of fear or bravery, you’re not sure.

_. . . H m m . Y o u **d o n ’ t** k n o w , d o y o u ? S h o u l d I s p e l l i t o u t f o r y o u ?_

He clicks his tongue—or, what you assume to be his tongue.

_N o . I ’ d r a t h e r s h o w y o u ._

He pulls two small objects out of his melting pockets, clutching them carefully just above his unstable palm. He reaches his hand out to you, providing you with the answer to what they are.

Your face pales.

He just continues speaking, his voice crackly but lighthearted in tone, almost. _N o w , I d o h o p e t h i s w i l l b e q u i c k, f o r m y s a k e a n d y o u r s ; h e i s s o o n t o d i s c o v e r i t m i s s i n g ._

He gestures to one of the rings in particular: an engagement ring. The other, a wedding ring, sits beside it.

_. . . R e a l l y , t h a t w o u l d n o t e v e n b e a p r o b l e m n o w i f y o u h a d j u s t t a k e n b o t h w i t h y o u , b u t t h a t w a s y o u r c h o i c e ._

Gaster sees you staring at them, and grins.

_R e c a l l s o m e t h i n g , m y d e a r ?_

Your legs buckle, and suddenly you're on the floor.


	28. (Nothing's Ever) Lost Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where some things come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is not-so-subtly from the song Lost by Amanda Palmer; also go listen to it, it's great, so is her song Have To Drive, it's one of my favorites--
> 
> also, unrelated but i'm sponsoring the game Kentucky Route Zero, it is so dang good go play it, buy it if you have the money, like seriously, it's awesome
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> hope ya'll enjoy this chapter; sorry if it's klunky, i got little to no sleep again last night so i'm a bit out of it

_( Y / N ) . . ._

You groan, trying to feel your way out of the darkness.

_( Y / N ) . ._

The darkness doesn’t grow, but it remains, even so.

_( Y / N ) , w a k e u p ._

It’s too heavy here. You can’t see.

_( Y / N ) ._

Can’t wake up.

“ _(Y/N)_!”

You jolt up off the floor, heart and head pounding insistently—almost painfully. You feel something wrap around you, but you’re too busy gasping for air to pay it mind, like you’ve just been pulled out of water.

“Are you okay?!” a voice asks right next to your ear, sounding deathly concerned. “What happened?”

You recognize the voice to be Frisk’s, and dumbly return their makeshift hug, trying to ponder on a good answer to their questions.

“I’m okay?” you settle on at last, and naturally, it comes out as a question more than anything.

“You are not hurt, are you?”

Hearing the second voice, you peer around Frisk to meet Toriel’s gaze, spotting her kneeling a few feet away with a phone clutched in her hands. She seems almost haggard, and it appears she just got there a few seconds ago. “Um, yeah? Think I just... Uh...”

Make an excuse. Anything.

“Fell out of bed? Weird dream or something?”

...

Good enough.

Looking somewhat relieved, the goat monster lets out a whoosh of breath. “That is... That’s good. I am glad it is nothing serious.”

You nod absently, more focused on Frisk, who is peering at you with a look you can’t quite make out. You try to meet their gaze but they pointedly stare elsewhere; before you can wonder what that’s about, Toriel gets to her feet.

“Excuse me for a moment, please,” she murmurs, before heading back out into the hallway, phone up to her ear.

Left to your own devices—and with Frisk seemingly not wanting to talk to you—you try deciphering what just happened; or, rather, what happened before you passed out.

Gaster was there. He had something, something you—

Your pace pales, again.

Oh.

Frowning deeply, you glance away, focusing your attention on the now-lit lamp on the bedside table. A few moments later you hear the door creak open again, and you watch Toriel step into the room once more, this time seeming a bit more weary than before.

She pulls the phone away from her ear to talk, eyeing you in particular. “Um, (Y/N)? You are feeling okay, are you not? That is what you said?”

You don’t feel comfortable speaking, exactly, but you also don’t want to answer her with silence; so you say, “Um. Yes.”

She immediately puts the phone back up, speaking into the receiver: “I just asked her, she’s _fine_.”

“Who...?” You turn to Frisk questioningly, but they’re still not looking at you.

“...Alright.” After pausing, Toriel sighs heavily. “Alright. I will ask her. ...But I _swear_ , if there was something _truly_ wrong, I would let you know.”

Once more she removes the device from her ear—then leans down and tries offering it to you, to your surprise. “Are you okay with talking right now?” she inquires gently. “He would like to speak to you.”

One of your hands grips the carpet beneath you, while shakily, you use the other to take her phone. “Hello?” you prompt into the receiver.

_“h—a-are you okay? are you hurt?”_

You blink again, this time to yourself. “Sans? Wh... I’m... Fine?” (That’s not very convincing.) “Yeah, no, I’m... I’m okay. What did Toriel tell you?”

He pauses, and for a halting moment you fear he might not believe you on what you said; but then...

_“she... she said you weren’t... you blacked out or something, w—but you’re okay?”_

“Yeah, it was...” You scratch your head. “I had a dream. It was really weird, I think it... I was in a deep sleep too, so...”

_“oh.”_

You try not to grimace, sensing the skepticism in his voice. “But it’s fine, like I said, um... Don’t worry.” Your thoughts leave you for a moment, as your eyes suddenly fall on Frisk—who only now is staring at you.

“I... I have to go.”

_“...oh, uh. ok.”_

“Bye. Thanks, for uh. Calling.”

_“yeah... bye.”_

You end the call and hand the phone out in your hand, retracting to pick at the carpet with both hands once she takes it. Uneasily you avoid the gaze of the child in front of you, getting steadily unnerved by the tight, thoughtful frown on their face.

“Thank you, guys. I appreciate it. I should...” You bite your lip. “I’ll just go back to bed, if that’s alright.”

She smiles at you, at least, saying warmly, “Of course, dear. Come, Frisk.” She takes their hand in hers. “I hope you rest well,” she adds, and briefly, you smile back at her, mumbling another thanks before she turns and they make their leave.

Alone, you climb back onto the bed, limbs feeling heavy. You hope that’ll be enough to help you sleep, because your mind is racing at the moment, and you couldn’t quell it if you tried.

You rub at your eyes, then close them, hoping to drift off.

Of course, you’d wake up again.

Blearily, you blink open your eyes, and stare up at the ceiling for far too long.

Just your luck.

“Quit hiding, would you?” you groan out to the quiet. I mean, really, he’s just beating around the bush at this point.

Right on cue a blurry shape forms out of the shadows, peering over at you from the foot of your bed. He looks almost smug, his eyes twinkling with that twisted glee he seems to like unsettling you with.

You merely sigh, and sit up, facing him with a hard glare.

“Well?” you invite curtly.

His smile twists upwards more.

_S o y o u a c c e p t i t ?_

You just keep glaring, mostly to hide your anxiety and queasiness. He chuckles in that static-like, rather creepy way of his, then holds out his hand to you once more.

There the rings sit, untouched. Unharmed. Gleaming in the darkness.

Your eyes fixate on them.

They’re yours. You know that, somehow.

And yet...

Yet.

You turn your head, faint disbelief in your gut, but a bit more muted. Mostly, there’s just guilt.

~~Just sorrow.~~

You’ll believe it. They all know you, somehow.

But you’re still not sure.

Not sure you can...

_T h e n s t a r t f r o m t h e g r o u n d u p ._

You lift your eyes to him again, not noticing the sudden cold dampness on your cheeks.

“How?”

_I w i l l h e l p y o u ._

You laugh, despite yourself. “And how do you suppose I trust _you_?”

He just stares back at you, certain.

_I ’ v e a l w a y s h e l p e d y o u b e f o r e . T h a t w i l l n o t c h a n g e ._

You know.

You remember.

So you reach over and take the wedding ring from him.

“He’ll want the other one for now,” you say.

Gaster grins.

You’re less sure about this, but...

You trust him.

And you think you can start to trust everyone else, too.

So you smile,

for you'll try to keep your promise, no matter what.

*

_The darkness stretches out before you like a blanket of nothing, formless; a void, you’d call it. And still you somehow find your footing on it, unable to fall through whatever floor there is._

_Eventually, the void stops appearing as just a void, as stars start blinking into existence above you. You feel the ground shift beneath you, and when you look down, there’s grass there now instead, replacing the darkness._

_You start walking, over to a field in the distance. A field you know well. A field you’d call a second home, if you could._

_Shadows stretch across the field, but the stars shine overhead, almost warm, yet not. The stars feel like home, in of themselves. They shine down at you like a million spotlights, filling you with Hope. Filling you with Determination._

_There’s only one thing missing here._

_Rather, someone._

_You try searching, and yet..._

_You can’t find what you’re looking for._

_And without such, you feel lost._

_...Without._

_It..._

_It’s familiar, what you’re looking for. Akin to the word “without.”_

_Still you search._

_Still, you cannot find what you are looking for._

_It’s painful._

_You turn away from the sky, wanting to head back—wherever that is, you’re not sure._

_You’re simply sure that you need to leave._

_...And even so, you head nowhere._

_Your feet are moving in place, one place only. You remain here. The shadows stretch further, bigger, more looming on the horizon._

_You try to run._

_But one of the shadows comes closer, halting you._

_You relax. You know the shadow._

_You welcome it._

_The shadow takes form, into that of a tall figure, more stable than in the real world. He looks calmly at you, almost friendly, in a way._

_He offers his hand out to you, like he always does. There’s a hole in his palm._

_You take his hand, and he leads you away._

_You go, for you know he’ll help you._

_You know you will find what you’re looking for._


	29. Head's On a Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You try your hand at a bit of scientific research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the bombardment of plot exposition--
> 
> but it's important c:

Your thumb has been hovering over the “call” button for the past few minutes, as even now, you inwardly debate going through with it.

Earlier—rather, last night—Gaster had advised you on the easiest starting point: that being to contact Alphys. Sure, you’d already gotten her number but now you’re actually going to _talk_ to her, and...

The last time you did any of the sort was when she and Undyne visited you in the hospital, and that was quite a while ago now. You know neither of them that well, despite Frisk and Toriel claiming them to be your friends, too. But you’d figured calling one of them could be a start.

Not to mention, she could be useful in finding out more about your sister.

...

Maybe. You’ll... Ask about it, some time later.

(Why not now?)

You ignore that thought and finally gather up what’s left of your courage to go through with the call. There’s a good chance this will go wrong and you’ll find out she hates you, but oh well. It’s worth a shot.

You wait a few rings, then...

_“H-hello? Who’s this?”_

She sounds nervous—that makes two of you, you suppose.

“Um, sorry, for uh... It’s short notice, but um. This is (Y/N)?”

 _“...Huh?”_ she squeaks.

You wince.

“I—you’re Alphys, right? I asked Sans for your number—?”

_“Oh, right.”_

“...Huh?”

 _“N-never mind, uhhhh....”_ She pauses, almost painfully. _“Y-yeah, this—I-I’m Alphys. It’s—it’s nice to, t-to speak to you, a-again, um...”_

Gods, this is so awkward. You should probably say something to at least alleviate some of her stress, right...?

“Yeah, you too!”

...

Too much.

“Uh, anyway? I’m calling because, I was—I was hoping to ask for your help, with something.” You pick at the pajamas you’re wearing, thinking on what reasoning you should give. ~~Maybe just be honest?~~ “I kind of... Everybody’s saying my soul’s off, or something. I, um, want to learn more about that, I guess?” In a way.

She hums, almost curiously. “ _W-well, sure, I c-could help you with that.”_

You perk up, “Oh, really?”

_“Y-yeah, uh... When are you free, or...?”_

“Ah, whenever,” you muse, “how about... If you’re free, I could come over to your place tomorrow?”

_“O-oh, um! Y-yeah, sure, that—that works. I-I’ll text you the address? We can figure out the time later?”_

“Yeah, sure!”

_“G-great! I’ll! See you then, I guess?”_

You nod, then realize your mistake and quickly stammer out a, “Oh, yeah, see you.”

Excited, somehow, you quickly press the end button and put your phone back on the table beside you, before searching for some clothes to wear for the day.

* * *

Frisk peers at you from across the dining table, picking at their eggs absentmindedly with a fork. Toriel scolds them for what they think is the second time that morning, and they go to eat once more, only to stop again a bite later.

Having already finished your own breakfast, you’re busy on your phone, scrolling through something—you’ll stop everyone once in a while to do something else, typing words in, theoretically either texting or looking up other stuff online.

“What are you doing?” they finally decide to mumble around a mouthful of egg, causing their mother to scold them for an entirely different reason. You look at them briefly before going back to your phone.

“Researching,” is all you reply with.

“Researching?” they echo, after swallowing. You just nod.

“Science stuff.”

“Science stuff?” they repeat a bit louder, sitting up straighter in their chair. Their eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why?”

You click your tongue. “I asked Alphys if—”

“Alphys?!”

“Frisk, do not interrupt. That is very rude.”

“Sorry,” they apologize quickly, “um. Go ahead, (Y/N).”

You give them a weird look, but go on anyway. “Yeah, so... I asked Alphys about something? Something science... Related.”

...That doesn’t clear up anything.

“She said she could help me tomorrow, but right now I’m just sort of looking up things, I guess.”

“What...?”

You shrug. “Magic, souls... Y’know.”

Frisk’s eyebrows furrow further, but they slump into their chair, and dejectedly return to their meal. Fair enough, they think. They have something to ask somebody, too.

They have their own research to do.

* * *

The next day, after arriving at the address you were given, you knock thrice on the door then step back and wait. While waiting you glance around, taking note of the house silently. In the driveway sits a bright blue convertible, shining with obvious newness. Behind it is an old pickup truck, and for just a moment, it seems oddly familiar.

Before you can really think about it too long the door swings open, and a yellow lizard monster stands in the doorway. “O-oh, y-you’re here!” she stammers out upon first spotting you, offering a sheepish smile. “Come in, w—d-do you like tea?”

“Sure,” is your poetic response, as you follow her inside. The house is a bit messier than you were expecting, but nothing too bad—though some kind of anime is playing on the flat-screen TV in the living room, left unpaused. Though it somewhat piques your curiosity, you don’t say anything, redirecting your attention to Alphys, who is heading for the kitchen. You hesitate, then follow her.

Once she’s done making the tea, she pours some into a mug and hands the mug over to you; you take it, peering at the liquid curiously. It’s a very light shade of brown, and it smells almost like honey, in a way. “What kind of tea is it?” you ask.

“Golden flower tea,” Alphys explains. “It’s the king’s favorite kind, a-actually... Th-that’s sort of why we have it.”

“King Asgore Dreemurr?” you question, without really thinking. She squints at you, briefly.

“U-um, yeah. H-how did you...?”

“Just a guess,” you supply quickly, even though you’ve never actually heard his full name before. ~~Why do you know it?~~

Trying to deflect from the topic, you quickly take a gulp of your tea, humming as the taste meets your tongue (even as it burns you). After swallowing your mouthful you say, “Wow, this is... It’s really good. Thanks.”

“N-no problem.”

She smiles shyly at you, before glancing away, clicking her claws together hesitantly.

“U-um. So... I-is—are you okay, with, uh...”

You wait for her to finish.

“Th-there’s no rush, o-or anything. But, you want to, do some soul research, you said?”

You nod, a bit confused as to what her point is here.

“R-right, ummm—I have... There’s a lab downstairs. I-if you want we can just... Head... Down...”

“Okay.”

“Y-yeah...”

She grabs her own discarded tea from the counter and starts shuffling back into the living room, you following behind. She ends up leading you down a narrow hallway, and the further you go, the dimmer the lights get, and at one point the carpet gives way to tile. An elevator resides at the very end, and Alphys proceeds to press a couple of buttons before the doors open.

You really, really want to make a comment, or something—to at least _acknowledge_ what you’re seeing. But you’re kind of at a loss for words, even when you two enter the elevator and descend. The doors slide open again once you’ve reached the bottom floor, and you step out into a dingy basement, Alphys taking the lead again.

“F-follow me,” is all she says, then starts walking, so yet again you have no choice but to trail after her.

The area is about the same as any old basement, you notice, except for a few key details: for one there’s quite a few machines and blueprints lying around that you can’t begin to understand or recognize for what they are. At one point she leads you past a giant contraption that looks similar to a goat head, you think—the sign by it reads “DT Extractor.” It looks like it’s just been recently “installed” in that part of the basement, like it resided somewhere else before this. Even during this, you keep your thoughts to yourself, merely taking everything in.

Finally the trek ends, as the both of you enter an open room, looking similar to that of a doctor’s office. Alphys takes a seat in a rolling chair by a desk, and beckons you to sit across in a normal but cushioned chair. You do so without question, obviously still processing.

“I-it’s, um...” Her words interrupt your silent probing about your surroundings. “Th-there’s still a, a lot that needs to be done down here... I-it’s still a work-in-progress.”

She fiddles with her hands, looking suddenly uneasy, though continues.

“We just... Just recently got, the... The funds, for... To be able to transport some... S-some things from the lab underground.”

The funds...?

She pales, then quickly goes on, “N-never mind about that, i-it’s—a-anyway, I have some—some files, you could look at, to start with, they’re just... A-and there’s probably, p-probably a book, lying around here s-somewhere, I-I’ll...”

With that Alphys stands up, making her way over to a bookshelf you spotted when you first walked in—it holds random papers more so thank books, you see. She rummages through it for a moment, then lets out a small “Ah!” and returns to you.

“This is uh, a file I wrote down some research in once, it’s about... T-the difference between human and monster souls, so that should... Th-that should be a good place to start, I-I think.”

You nod and take it from her, before smiling slightly at her, as sort of a reassurance. “Thanks.” A slight blush crosses her cheeks and she mumbles a thank you before heading back to her chair.

You pause, considering asking to take the file with you to Toriel’s and read it there, but...

Then again, you might have some questions; it might be a good idea to stay here, at least for a while.

You open the file and start reading her notes.

_Since coming to the surface I’ve realized there’s quite a lot we don’t really know about human souls, even now. I looked through a couple of books about it and while humans don’t know much about magic, they have some things written down about the nature of souls as a whole, which I find interesting._

_Here are some things I found out that I’d like to include:_

_According to their research, humans have discovered that while Determination can be found in all human souls, it can be traced back to a single trait of its own. This trait is extremely rare, they claimed, and little to nothing is truly known about souls that bear this trait individually, even now._

_It was also mentioned that a Determination soul/trait is thought to not only be more powerful than the other traits, but “useful,” as they put it. I’m not entirely sure what they mean by this, but I want to look into it more, at least._

_One of my theories on this is maybe the Determination soul/trait is possibly the only soul/trait that has the ability to use any type of magic, even if not true magic. This would explain the rarity of Determination as most humans do not possess magic, at least not in this day and age. Our history books stated seven magicians were the ones that created the barrier, but things have changed since then. (Exactly how much, I wonder?)_

...

* * *

Frisk stares down at the screen of their phone, contemplating.

Finally, they send the message, with just a bit of apprehension left.

It’s possible they could be ignored, or deflected, even if they do consider him a friend. They’re not entirely sure where his mind is at right now, in spite of everything.

But even still.

They wrote, _We need to talk._

Now, they just wait for his response.

They're going to get to the bottom of this.

They _need_ to.

Not just for you,

but for themselves.

...Because something is calling to them, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also yay finally, i get to write more Alphys--


	30. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make actual progress in some things! Maybe!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am t i r e d but i n e e d to write more for this fic so,
> 
> especially Sans/Reader stuff because that is long overdue, even i want it
> 
> i mean, this chapter's mostly plot-driven but still--

“’s fine. thanks anyway.”

Abruptly he ends the call, leaning his skull into his hand afterwards with an unusual frown.

He... Really wants to say that conversation was helpful, but the guy only repeated what everyone already knows: you were found in the woods, unconscious but with no sign of a struggle, though _something_ in you appeared to be damaged. That isn’t to say Sans doesn’t appreciate everything Sergeant Everman has done for them—after all, he was one of the only humans willing to even look into the case—but just... _None of this is working_. To say he’s frustrated would be the understatement of the century.

He just wants to know what _happened_ to you, during the month you’d been missing. Why is that so hard to figure out right now? Why does it seem like the universe itself wants to erase any trace of the old you from existence?

...

What...

What if that _was_ the case? Not to erase you _yourself_ , but your entire _life_?

...

Somehow, that’s scarier than you just disappearing, to him.

Because he knows what that could mean.

Because it implies something he _really_ doesn’t want to think about.

This goes deeper than some random idiot trying to hurt you—not only does it feel like this was _planned_ , but it feels like...

It feels like somebody wanted you for something.

For what, Sans doesn’t know.

But it was meant not involve anyone else, seemingly.

Heh... After all,

you’re not supposed to _remember_ anyone. Right?

...

It’s funny to him, in a sadistic, dark kind of way.

Oh yeah. It’s hilarious, knowing somebody did this to you.

_Because HE’LL be the one laughing when he finds that worthless prick._

* * *

“Thanks again!” You beam back at Alphys still standing the doorway of the house, returning her wave. “I’ll text you about it soon as I’m able to get it!”

“O-oh yeah, no problem! Tell Toriel and Frisk we said hi!”

“Yup!”

You give her one last wave for good measure, then head off down the sidewalk, making sure to take a detour to the library on your way. After finishing reading Alphys’s notes, both of you agreed upon the fact a book about souls might help too, so you’re going to make sure to get a library card and check one out.

So far, you’ve found out the surface level things about human souls: how there are seven traits, Determination is the rarest, yada yada. And apparently, you’re one of the minority that happens to have one, which—wow. And if that’s the case, isn’t that Frisk’s trait too, since their soul is also red?

That’s...

Odd, to say the least.

Does this also mean you might have magic, or something of that ilk...? Does Frisk—

Wait—Frisk can reset; somehow, you remember that.

Can you reset—?

Woah, okay, this is way too much information to think about all at once.

...But it’s something to consider, definitely.

About a half an hour or so later you arrive back at Toriel’s, clutching a white book with a bold font reading “THE ANATOMY OF A SOUL.” It sounds and looks kind of fancy, and already you’re very, very interested—mostly based off of what you’ve already read but still.

...

But it begs a certain question; something you hadn’t really bothered to look into the book about yet, and just now are sitting on the guest bed, flipping said book open to find out.

You scan the index briefly, only for your intrigued frown to become a full-fledged one.

_Chapter 5, pg. 53:_

_“Monster Souls: A Brief Study On What Makes Up Their Weak Nature”_

For some reason, seeing it makes you feel uneasy.

Without second guessing yourself however, you flip to the page it listed.

_Now, monster souls are a curious thing, and an interesting subject to discuss as a whole. As you might already know, it is a given monsters are much more frail compared to humans. While humans are physical and rely heavily on their body, monsters rely more on their souls/magic and emotion; while a human might be mentally unstable for a time in their life, it will not directly affect them, unless they make certain choices that tamper with that. Monsters, on the other hand, will possess the chance of dusting even at the slightest lack of “HoPe” in their soul. Despite so, they naturally have a higher “HoPe” than we humans do._

_By default it is obvious that because of this, no matter how much HP a monster may have, when in battle a human will always come out on top. (The stronger always prevail, after all.) Determination, a key trait in humans, is the leading cause of this. Monsters lack such Determination. Most definitely this is also the reason monsters were—_

You quickly close the book with sweaty palms. Your throat is tight, and it’s almost hard to breathe, for a moment.

That’s...

Enough reading for today, you think.

* * *

Familiarly, Frisk finds themselves in front of Sans’s bedroom, their hesitance in the matter making them falter. Somehow, the fact the door is slightly ajar further cements it—like he might be expecting them, expecting a confrontation of sorts.

I mean, that’s not _un_ true. At least in his mind. He clearly knows they’re here, and he’s clearly wary of their intentions, even though—

They let out a breath, trying to calm the sudden spike in their pulse. Count slowly to three, Toriel will tell them, and if that doesn’t work, count higher. It helped, usually. This time it does, too.

They waste no time knocking, and gently push the door open. They enter the room quietly, and their gaze travels upwards, expecting to see Sans looking at them. They must have overestimated his unease about this because he’s doing the exact opposite, sitting at a desk and pointedly not paying mind to their arrival. He’s shuffling through some papers haphazardly, seeming to discard one after another with only a small glance to them; curious, Frisk walks closer.

Finally, his sockets dart to them, alert but weary. “so what is it?”

Straight to the point. Fair enough.

 _I have some... Theories?_ Their hands pause. _On who might have done this._

“’lright. lay ‘em on me.”

_I..._

He’s not going to like this one. (Either of them, really.)

_Do you think maybe, Gaster is—_

“nope.”

Frisk huffs, _At least hear me out on it! (Y/N) said she’d just had a dream about something, and that’s what caused her to black out but that doesn’t make any sense, she’s obviously lying, so maybe—_

“okay, okay, relax, kid,” he sighs, dragging a hand over his skull. “i get it but what makes you think he’s behind that?”

Frisk hesitates, biting their lip. _You... You mentioned before that... You’ve seen him **here** before. And (Y/N)’s been... You’ve said (Y/N) might have talked to him._

“yeah, so?”

_Why would he be talking to her?_

Without thinking, Sans merely shrugs, which somewhat annoys the child. “he does weird crap like that, it’s normal.”

“But—”

“and she, uh...” He rubs the back of his neck, “had no problem with it before. acted like she knew him or something.”

_...H—_

“dunno how, kid.” He shrugs again. “just know it’s not him.”

...

Alright, then.

“so who else do you think it is?” the skeleton prompts, feigning a bit of nonchalance by flicking one of the papers in front of him.

 _I talked to Flowey,_ is Frisk’s simple response, and right on cue, his eyesockets narrow.

“why are you talking to that overgrown weed?”

_He’s not a weed. He’s been... Fine, recently, but—I asked him about Chara._

“figured.”

 _Sans, I’m being serious here!_ they sign quickly at him with a frustrated frown. He mutters a sorry before they continue: _I also ruled out the possibility of him being a suspect._

“heh, you’re making it sound like this is some kind of crime show.”

Their gaze hardens.

“...so, uh. chara, you think?”

As expected, Sans considers their second idea with some hesitance, though he doesn’t thoroughly deny it like he did the other. They both know it’s a good possibility—and even if Chara isn’t the main cause, it’s likely they might be involved, somehow.

Somehow looking more tired than before, Sans rests his cheekbone in the crook of his elbow. “but how do you suppose we prove it? we don’t have enough evidence,” he snorts right after he says so, obviously thinking back to his previous comment.

 _We could ask her,_ Frisk supplies, and he snorts again, a bit more bitterly.

“if she doesn’t remember us, how’d she remember the ass who messed up her soul?”

_I’m not sure. But something is obviously pulling her to **not** remember us._

“so what, ask her who’s the voice in her head? yeah, ‘m sure that’d go over well.”

 _No!_ they snap angrily. _I’m saying we should look into this more; maybe if we get her to trust us again, she might say something we don’t already know. Maybe she’ll start to remember things._

Sans shakes his head, letting out a small “heh,” before absently burying his entire face into his sleeve. Frisk’s frown deepens.

_What?_

“nothing.”

He sighs.

“...just don’t get your hopes up too high, Frisk.”

Seeing as he’s not looking at them, they mutter, “It will work.”

“how do you figure?” Sans mumbles back.

“Because it has to.”

The skeleton’s grin tilts up, but humorlessly. He looks back at them, his sockets almost completely void of light.

“really now?”

“I’m not giving up,” Frisk states, “and neither should you.”

“i didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

His grin falters, just slightly. They try to give him a reassuring look, going back to silently speak, _Things will go back to normal, Sans. One day._

He merely snorts a third time, and looks away again.

“one day,” he repeats under his breath, shaking his head slightly, chuckling.

The child remains quiet.

“...’one day’ is pretty far.”

* * *

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He’s been at this for hours, making due with the files he’d found, and _still nothing_.

No progress, no answers, no...

Damnit.

What’s the point anymore?

Why is he still doing this?

What does it matter, if he can’t find anything?

It won’t help you, it won’t help him. It won’t help _anyone_.

...

Maybe...

He’s just looking in the wrong places?

Maybe you know something he doesn’t? (Well, of course you would.)

This is going nowhere, after all.

With a lack of much thinking Sans pulls out his phone, almost drowsily typing out something to you.

 **_Sans:_ ** _hey you got a minute?_

Blearily, he blinks at the time on his phone,

and has a near (figurative) heart attack.

He just texted you at one in the morning. You might not have turned off your phone, or your notifications, at the very least.

He’s going to wake you up.

Gods, can he be any _more_ of an _idiot_.

 **_You:_ ** _yeah sure, why?_

...

Wait that was just a few seconds ago, what the heck, why are you awake?

 **_Sans:_ ** _tf why are you up_

 **_You:_ ** _reading_

 **_Sans:_ ** _who reads at freakin 1 am_

 **_You:_ ** _I do_

And he thought he was bad.

Still, he shakes his head while letting out a small laugh to himself, and then types back:

 **_Sans:_ ** _k weirdo_

 **_You:_ ** _so what’s up_

 **_Sans:_ ** _oh right_

_need your help with something_

There’s a notable pause before you respond.

 **_You:_ ** _why me?_

 **_Sans:_ ** _because it has to do with you_

...

Okay, that probably sounded a little weird. Should he...?

 **_You:_ ** _???_

 **_Sans:_ ** _tryin to figure out who did this to you_

Another pause.

 **_You:_ ** _you mean the_

_soul thing??_

_I appreciate that but its not really something for you to worry about_

**_Sans:_ ** _kinda is tho_

 **_You:_ ** _Im already working on something with Alphys, seriously_

_its not a big deal_

**_Sans:_ ** _but i want to help you_

...

A longer pause.

 **_You:_ ** _okay_

_I’ll come over tomorrow_

_I mean.Is that ok?_

**_Sans:_ ** _sure_

_see you then_

“ _yeah_ ” is your lackluster answer, and despite the progress Sans has seemed to make with you, he feels almost... Worried. You still seem reluctant to accept help, but... Why?

...

Heh.

Honestly, you’re recently reminding him too much of himself, back when he first met you: kind of airheaded, always ignoring other people’s concerns...

Oh well. Guess that means he’s got to do your job for you, this time—because obviously, you’ve forgotten to do it.

Good thing he remembers, huh?


	31. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You see Sans.
> 
> Things don't go as according to plan (if there ever was one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (title is vaguely inspired by Meteor Shower from Cavetown btw)
> 
> as of a few days ago i am officially one year older *throws pepper like confetti* 
> 
> so to celebrate have this chapter and also a link to this song because it's really good: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncLkAfQdVhU
> 
> :')

Surprising no one, much less yourself, you get zero sleep again—which is wholly your fault, you'll admit. ~~(Then again, it always is.)~~ Still you get up earlier than everyone else, intent on making the rest of the day good, at least.

While making breakfast, your attention keeps directing to the book you’d read last night (that book being the main reason you couldn’t rest). You’d decided to read it in order, as opposed to just continuing on the chapter on monster souls, and while it was a bit informative, it didn’t say anything you didn’t already know about human souls.

~~Though, any example they showed was a _complete_ soul, as opposed to yours.~~

What _was_ interesting, you did note, is the fact it kept mentioning how “special” and “integral” Determination is. It seems to be a topic humans not only have studied to a great degree, but one they continue to study; granted, this book was released a few years ago, before monsters returned, but it is interesting nonetheless.

They, in particular, find Determination interesting.

It makes you wonder how special _your_ soul might have been—how important.

...

Wait.

What if...?

(Don’t think about this now.)

...Right. You have too much to do to dwell on this, at the moment.

You push those other thoughts to the pack of your mind for now.

After Frisk and Toriel wake up, you tell them you’ll be at Sans and Papyrus’s house for the day, though you’re not sure how long. They seem to have no qualms about it (not that you really need permission from either of them) and you take to texting Sans, asking when would be a good time to come over.

 _huh_ is his first response.

Naturally this confuses you, so quickly you type out, _Um I’m coming over, remember??_

**_Sans:_ ** _hoh trightt_

_*oh right_

_sorry just woke up_

_whenever’s fine_

...

Okay, then.

So uh.

Maybe leave in five minutes?

That’s...

Probably fine, right?

* * *

At first, Sans doesn’t want to get out of bed.

For one, he’s running low on sleep, and expending what little energy he has doesn’t sound very appealing. For another, it’s pretty early in the morning anyhow, even though you did text him; and he’s used to sleeping in.

But overall, there’s a very specific, main reason, that he’d rather not get into:

He can tell it’s going to be one of _those_ days.

The kind he hates, but can’t do anything about.

The kind he really doesn’t want you to be here to see.

But he’s already responded to your text. You’re coming over soon. And the last thing he wants to do is let you down (even though he’s bound to anyway).

He can’t just backtrack, either. It wouldn’t be fair to you.

And he does still want to help.

So he’ll suck this up, no matter what.

He won’t bring you into his problems.

(Not this time.)

* * *

You stand in front of the front door, continuously rehearing in your mind what you’re going to tell him about the things you’ve learned; you want to make sure you didn’t forget anything you read, and so far, you think you got at least most of it:

  1. The soul/trait Determination itself is super rare and apparently you have it.
  2. Humans know little to nothing about monster souls, yet claim to know everything about their own souls.
  3. They don’t know much about the actual trait of Determination but say it’s really important somehow?



Maybe Sans can help you figure out what any of this means—because right now, you’re a bit lost.

Sucking in a small breath, you knock, and wait silently for a response.

For a while, nothing comes.

Then...

“who is it?”

His voice sounds... Off, through the door. Still, you don’t think much of it and announce, “It’s me, (Y/N).”

“(Y/N) who?”

...

Oh, he did not just do that.

“If you don’t open this door right now I’m going to kill you.”

“that’s an empty threat,” he determines, and yeah, it is. So what?

“Sans,” you say warningly, which only makes him chuckle behind the door, and for a fleeting moment you consider kicking down the door yourself; but luckily for everyone the door creaks open without your interference.

“Thank you,” you grumble, staring him down as he merely leans on the doorframe. He just shrugs, seeming nonchalant.

Now that you can see him, you know better, however. Suddenly, you realize something’s off.

You’re fairly certain skeletons can’t get sick—at least, not like humans can—but if they could, Sans would be the definition of a sick skeleton. At first glance he _seems_ fine, leaning on the doorframe just for the heck of it; but his whole demeanor seems fatigued, leading you to believe it’s something else. He looks tired, more so than usual, even though he’s giving you the same laid-back grin he always does.

You narrow your eyes at him slightly. “Are you okay?”

Sans gives you the obligatory, “yeah, i’m fine,” and maybe if you weren’t paying attention so closely, you’d believe his act. But his eyelights shift, ever so slightly, and somehow you automatically know that’s a tell. ~~How _do_ you know?~~

“We can just do this another day,” you inform him and he quickly shakes his head, much to your slight irritation.

“i toldja, ‘m fine,” he stuffs his hands into his pockets to somehow prove his point, “just tired.”

Uh huh. Sure.

However, you choose not to say it out loud and make your way past him, pointedly not looking at him for a moment as he shuts the door behind you both. Then without warning he appears in the kitchen, with no explanation as to how he got there as he asks you, “want anything?”

You shake your head, and watch as he sifts through some cupboards, eventually turning up with what is a box of cereal, presumably. He then instantly shortcuts back to you, giving you a brief look before tugging the flaps of the box open.

For a moment silence reigns between you, only filled occasionally with the sound of him digging through the cereal and popping some of it into his mouth (which scientist-you does question inwardly). You partially wonder if there’s something you should be doing in the meantime, but you get the feeling he probably doesn’t have any sort of plan in mind; since he’s obviously just snacking on cereal in front of you.

You shuffle from foot to foot, trying to think of something you can say, at least. And it gets to the point where you can’t take the silence anymore, so you ask the first thing that comes to mind:

“Did you... Not eat breakfast, or...?”

...

Wow.

Now that was just sad.

Still, Sans throws another handful of cereal at his mouth— _at_ his mouth, and it just _disappears_ —before facing you with a seemingly genuine, amused grin. “uh, no? monsters don’t have to eat. ...traditionally, i mean, like... we don’t go hungry or anything.”

...

“Monsters don’t have to eat.”

Your scrunched-up face must say it all because he chuckles slightly before finally putting the box on the floor (you try not to let that irk you). “not physical, y’know?”

“Yeah, I _get_ that, but—if you’re not hungry then why...”

“it’s monster food,” he says simply, then starts walking towards the couch without elaboration, and you take a moment to try to understand before practically stumbling after him.

“That’s—!” you stammer, all frenzied and bewildered as he plops down onto the couch cushions casually. “That doesn’t explain _anything_ , what is it used for?”

“just never mind, it’s nothing.” He plucks at a thread in his hoodie, “so what do you know about souls so far?”

You stare at him, taken aback by the change in subject.

“But you just said th—”

“it’s nothing,” he repeats, his grin lax, his eyelights shrinking somewhat to say otherwise, “anyway—”

“Sans.”

“what?”

“What does monster food do?”

“nothing. it’s just... it’s a thing we have, if... y’know. for fun.”

“Wait. You just said ‘if,’ if _what_?”

He gets to his feet, obviously ignoring you as he goes to walk away, “i have some books upstairs, we can look at those if you want.”

“Sans!” you bark after him, but unsurprisingly he’s disappeared into thin air.

Sighing, you decide to sit yourself down on the couch and wait.

* * *

He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just lied, and said he _was_ hungry.

He should have done a better job at deflecting, he shouldn’t have even bothered eating, then you wouldn’t have—

Briefly, he pulls out his soul, checking himself; just making sure.

*** .07/1 HP**

That’s...

Better than it was, at least.

But he should have never let you in on this.

Now you’re going to wonder. Now...

He needs to think of an excuse. He—

...No, no, maybe...

Maybe he can just...

Not tell you, still. Maybe you’ll understand. Maybe you won’t care enough. ~~Why should you?~~

Maybe he can still fix this.

Maybe it’s not hopeless, yet.

Maybe he still has a chance of...

He laughs at the thought, staggering back until he hits his bed.

Gods, it’s hilarious how selfish he is. Even now. Even when he has you back.

He should go back down there. Pretend it’s fine. You won’t worry that way.

He shouldn’t be focusing on this right now. It’s stupid. He’s an idiot, he doesn’t deserve to sit around and take this to heart. He doesn’t deserve to think about himself.

He doesn’t have a chance. He doesn’t _deserve_ to have a chance. Not after everything. Not after you left. Not after he...

No.

He needs to help you.

That’s the only thing that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of like being split into two chapters sorry--
> 
> i didn't know how it'd all fit haha


	32. Have Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't adding up and Sans is acting weird.
> 
> What else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter gave me s o many problems ugghhh
> 
> and spoiler alert Sans still doesn't get a hug--

As you wait for Sans downstairs, you internally debate over whether you should continue to beat a dead horse or not.

Chances are, if you try to get the truth out (because you _know_ he’s lying to you about _some_ thing), he’s just going to deflect you again; even if he doesn’t, or ends up telling you eventually, you don’t want to potentially upset him. He has his reasons, probably.

...

Still.

He’s taking a long time.

Should you—?

(What does it matter to you, anyway?)

It...

Actually _does_ matter to you, thank you very much.

...But you don’t know why.

And you’re not sure you want to look into it, right now.

You’re shaken out of your thoughts, thankfully, as Sans appears in front of you again, clutching some sort of book with an inverted heart on its cover. Without saying anything, he merely holds it out to you, expecting you to take it.

You do,

and without thinking, you set it down on the coffee table nearby. Frowning, you glance back at him, your ~~worry~~ unease increasing when he shoves his hands into his pockets almost shakily. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“nothing,” he says, easily, “do you want a different book, or—”

“Why are you doing this?”

Your voice cracks, just a little. Enough to make his brow-bone furrow. “doin’ what?”

“Something bothering you and you won’t let me—”

“nothing’s bothering me.”

 _Bull,_ is what you want to retort back at him. You’ve done this before. You’ve _seen_ him deflect things before ~~, more than once.~~ And _he_ should know that. Does he think you’re an idiot?

You watch the sweat on his skull bead further. His grin is tight, but he’s still pretending to look fine. Still pretending there’s nothing wrong.

And you think back, to all the times, all you’ve heard about what he did for you.

He doesn’t think you’re an idiot.

You know what he’s doing, now.

You swallow thickly.

You really, really don’t want to let this matter drop, but...

What can you do?

...

Well.

For now, you know what you can settle for.

So, you fight back your better judgement, and pick up the book.

Eventually, things start to go back to normal—at least, what you two consider normal.

You don’t do much of actual _reading_ , and instead ask Sans questions about the nature of souls, and stuff you just wanted confirmed coming from a monster; with your questions, he seems to relax more and more. ~~Even if it doesn’t feel right.~~

Soon enough, a new, specific question comes to mind.

You turn your head to look at him beside you, as both of you are sitting on the couch now. His grin is noticeably more lax now, and you think it okay to bring it up: “You, uh... You mentioned you were trying to figure out who did this?”

He tenses, just a bit.

“yeah,” he answers, after a pause. “me and Frisk, both, uh... we were kinda theorizing on who it was, i guess.”

You fiddle with your hands, “Who...?”

“we still don’t know. but... we, might’ve... the kid proposed someone who might be involved, sorta.”

You perk up at that, newly interested. “Who?” you ask again.

And noticeably, the skeleton grimaces.

“you’re not gonna believe me if i tell you.”

To that, you snort.

“Try me,” you declare, causing Sans to chuckle slightly. He shifts a bit, before facing you with a dead stare, and you prepare yourself to hear it.

Then...

“dead kid.”

...

“What?”

“a dead kid might be haunting you,” he says, simply.

“ _What_?” you can’t help but repeat, incredulous.

He laughs again, more genuinely. You’d laugh too, if not for the absurdity of the situation.

“i’m serious, i swear. honestly that’s probably not even the weirdest part.”

...Okay, then.

You shake your head, ruffling your hair a bit to fall into your face. “Alright,” is all you can manage, weakly, for lack of something to fill the silence. “...But why?”

Sans merely shrugs—not at all bothered by this discussion, apparently. “hell if i know. i just know Frisk has some beef with them.”

W...

Wait, so—Frisk is being haunted too?

What the heck??

“Okay,” you supply intelligently, your voice betraying your inner thoughts.

You... Really don’t know what else to say, at this point.

“...that’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

You smile wearily at him, despite yourself. “Not more than usual, I guess.”

He returns your smile, his eyelights just a bit brighter than earlier. Probably figuring you’re being creepy for staring at him, you glance away.

...This feels...

...

You tear your gaze to look at the time, something you choose not to address filling up your soul, just briefly. “I should get going,” you say suddenly, “I have, uh, work. I’ll be late.”

That’s what you get for scheduling this for this morning, you suppose.

...Still.

“hey, you...”

Once again, you look at Sans expectantly, noting the new uncertainty in his voice. He shifts his own gaze away from you. “...want me, to, uh... take you there?”

You blink.

“...i mean... if you don’t wanna be late? but it’s up to you?”

You break out into another smile, more genuine this time. “Sure.”

For a moment, his face blanks.

Then he gets to his feet, puzzling you until he holds out his hand for you to take.

Without hesitation you grab said hand of his, and just slightly, he pulls you closer, intertwining his hands with yours. Instantly the ground seems to buckle beneath you, but you’re a bit more prepared this time. ~~Though it doesn’t hurt to latch on to him tighter.~~

Seconds later the building appears in front of you, as inviting as you last remember it. Before you can do much else, you feel Sans retract his fingers and hand from your own. You watch him back away, his eye-lights having dimmed again, but his tone light as he says, “you should probably head in while ya can; grillbz can be a stickler for bein’ punctual.”

You know otherwise—but you don’t say so.

Instead, you walk towards the doors, before turning around one last time.

“Thanks.”

Your smile falters, just a bit, as you take his appearance in again.

“...Sans,” you say haltingly.

He’s already looking at you.

You open the glass doors, eyes still trained on him. And you stammer it out, before you can convince yourself otherwise:

“Please take care of yourself.”

Then you head inside, unable to suppress a wave of guilt.

...You know he’ll be fine.

...

He has to be.

~~You don’t know what you’ll do if he isn’t.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to kind of explain Reader's actions here,
> 
> she could have definitely continued to pressure Sans into telling her what's wrong, and he probably would have; but in the process it'd probably just make him really upset. it would be different if Reader knew more about him (at least what she thinks she knows about him at this point--) but she doesn't trust him enough at this point, if that makes sense? like, he'd be perfectly fine let's be honest if she just comforted him right then and there, but that's only if she knew exactly what to say and do--and she doesn't. at least she thinks she doesn't and oof, it's just a mess.
> 
> plus Sans would kind of place all the blame on himself for admitting to anything and again, that's probably not something Reader could handle just yet


	33. Matter Over Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a peek into Frisk's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i messed with the formatting here a bit oop--

They sit at the piano, contemplating.

They’d had a dream last night.

You’d disappeared again.

Something told them it was no use, then.

You didn’t want to remember. You couldn’t, especially since you’d gone.

And even now you don’t. Even in the real world.

...

Even so,

they’ll keep trying.

They want this to turn out right.

They want to _make_ things right, this time.

* *

_It was sunny out._

_Birds were singing, flowers were blooming—perfect weather for a walk._

_Speaking of which, they were walking home, the sun beating down on their shoulders, a backpack slung over their back. Sweat beaded the child’s brow as well; it wasn’t too hot out, really. It was more so due to the thoughts raging in their mind at the moment. The stress they had._

_It wasn’t the stress of school, or anything a normal child should have been worried about... Maybe._

_It had to do with their friends. Rather, one in particular._

_They truly cared about their friends. That hadn’t changed, after all these months of everyone living on the surface._

_...But..._

_One of their friends, Sans... He seemed to think otherwise._

_They didn’t quite blame him._

_It’d crossed a line though, a few weeks ago, when it was obvious he wasn’t doing well. They’d found it out from Papyrus of all people; and despite the front the cheerful skeleton usually tried to put on, he knew more than he let on. Most of all, he knew his brother like the back of his own hand, and he most certainly would know if Sans was truly happy or not._

_The child had known he wasn’t happy, even before. But it was something else—something Papyrus wasn’t aware of, something he might never be aware of._

_They could never tell anyone about it. What they knew._

_What Sans knew._

_..._

_But then,_

_something strange happened, just yesterday._

_Papyrus said Sans had come home, soaked to the bone in rain, after having left (for reasons Papyrus wouldn’t elaborate on). He’d asked Sans where he was—all Sans’s answer was “out.” And then, he explained he met someone._

_Someone by the name of “(Y/N).”_

**_You_** _._

_..._

_And that was what bothered Frisk:_

_The fact your name rung a bell for them._

_They didn’t know how, or why._

_..._

_But,_

_they remembered you._

* *

Frisk isn’t sure if they can find out who did this to you.

Every time they try to search through their mind for something, or even their soul, they come up empty.

It’s not like they can just ask you. It’s not like they can just ask Sans, or Papyrus, even, or...

Or Gaster.

Why would Gaster want to speak to them?

He’s always been close to you. They know that. It doesn’t make sense to them, they don’t know _why_ that’s the case, but they know; and they can’t just make the excuse he’s your (former) father-in-law. That would make even less sense—mainly because you knew him _before_ you knew Sans. You told them that.

...But _why_.

Why had you trusted them so easily? Why had you trusted Gaster? Why do you _still_ seem to trust him, when you supposedly don’t know anyone else? What is his role in this?

What about Chara? Where are they? Why can’t Frisk hear them anymore?

_Why doesn’t Frisk know ANYTHING?!_

...

...

...

_Why don't they know how to help you?_

Once again, they thought about coming to you, directly.

They’d paused at your door before going to bed, shortly after you had. But they had quickly shot that idea down; you might already have been asleep. Or you didn’t want to be bothered.

Or, most importantly, you’re not going to know anything, either.

So they went to their bedroom instead, hopping under the covers. Now they simply lie there, hoping— _praying_ an answer will come to them, somehow.

And as though God himself hears them...

They spot a shadow slinking in the corner.

They’re not afraid. Not anymore. They know he probably won’t hurt them. (Even if he does...)

They are thankful, because it means he wants to talk to them to some degree, too. Maybe they can convince him of something this time around.

...No, that’s stupid.

He won’t want that right now.

Frisk pulls the blankets away and sits up, but they don’t come over to greet the forgotten monster. They don’t move, other than the flutter of their eyelids, which blink away a strange wetness that had formed a few minutes ago.

They don’t move, but they smile, if weakly.

And absently, though he’s not actually there, they know, they feel the bed dip beside them as he sits next to them.

*

_They sit at the piano, contemplating._

_Another dream._

_You’d disappeared again._

_Something told them it was no use, then._

_You didn’t want to remember. You couldn’t, especially since you’d gone._

_And even now you don’t. Even in the real world._

_..._

_But they refuse to believe it._

_They need to interfere._

_They don’t care what’s telling them not to._

_They need to try._

_So they reread the scribbled-on sheets, over and over, and repeat the notes on the piano, over and over._

_It’s far from finished._

_But they are **determined**._

_They are **not** giving up._

_And no one can convince them otherwise—_

_"Frisk."_

_They stop._

_But when they glance around,_

_nobody is there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for this one's overt crypticness. we'll get back to our normal(?) scheduled programming in the next chapter
> 
> also as revenge for being shout out myself i'mma shout out armelle22's fic Healing because it's really good and interesting and please go show armelle some love in general, they're super sweet and their writing's just awesome,


	34. Teach and Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You stumble across some odd details and also Frisk likes gardening, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is kinda sorta late (at least compared to my usual updates); i couldn't figure out how to finish it at first, but when i got back to it i was in not-a-good emotional state at the time and used it as a sort of comfort, in a way? so if it's even less coherent than usual that'd be why lol
> 
> but anywho,
> 
> title is from [this cover ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5Z7dOG9SuM) of Unravel, go listen it's so good and it fits Reader really freakin' well--

Plate clutched in one of your hands, you scrub at a particularly irritable stain with the sponge in the other, not long after Toriel’s departure only a few minutes prior. She had briefly informed you she’d be heading out, and to call if you needed anything; you said you would, but knowing you, you probably won’t even if the apocalypse happens while she’s away.

...Then again, seeing as she’d be _out_ there she’d probably not be able to help you if there was a—

You drop the plate a little too hard into the soapy water, letting out a sudden curse as you do so. You didn’t break it, thank gods, but just that train of thought is making you even more frustrated. Your brain is _not_ here today (not that it ever is), and you partially know why—though you don’t really want to admit it.

You’re... Worried.

Well, maybe not worried? Just, really, uh. Weirded out, by... Certain things.

For one, you’ve noticed Toriel’s been a bit more stressed lately, something unknown clearly weighing on her shoulders. She didn’t tell you specifically where she’d be going today, but you wondered if maybe it had something to do with that stress. You don’t even try to speculate; you don’t know enough to try to understand in the first place. Even still, you wanted to help her as much as you could—hence your cleaning the dishes now.

Meanwhile, Frisk didn’t even really show up for breakfast this morning, technically speaking. Sure, they’d plucked some chocolate and bread from the kitchen but that was about it. You’d promised Toriel to watch over them, make sure nothing was wrong, and that’s what you’re doing now, through the window, as the child is currently out in the backyard.

You have absolutely no idea what’s going on in their head, because you’ve never seen them tend to flowers before, of all things—at least unprompted by Toriel, or as a first task in the day. And really, this is the first thing they’ve chosen to do this morning, other than eat.

Is it any of your business? Probably not.

But there’s been one other person on your mind. You need to get aforementioned person _off_ of your mind, as thinking about _that_ issue has gotten you nowhere.

(He won’t even respond to you anyway.)

Sighing resignedly, you set down another plate to head towards the door, twisting the door open and stepping outside. It’s partially cloudy today, but still pretty hot out, and instantly you regret wearing jeans. Still you suck it up and walk through the grass towards Frisk, as they sit motionlessly in front of the garden by the far tree.

“Whatcha doing there?” is your greeting, and having not noticed you yet they startle.

“...I’m gardening,” they supply, seeming a bit vague, even though that’s what you assumed at surface-level. Their legs are crossed beneath them, and they’ve made no effort to move anything other than their head to look at you. You step a bit closer, and without looking at them, you sit beside them in the grass.

“Nice day for it,” you comment.

Frisk fiddles with the half-empty watering can in their lap, and doesn’t respond. You don’t give up, though.

“What kind of flowers are those?”

They hesitate again, before answering, “Buttercups.”

They shift slightly, yet silently. You assume you’ll have to get further words out of them but then they continue.

“D—King Asgore came over one day to help plant them.”

“I see,” you manage, and Frisk nods, almost absently.

For another few minutes, the two of you fall into silence, you watching the golden flowers wave every once in a while in the rare breeze, and Frisk picking at the plastic of the watering can.

There’s a sudden gust of wind that blows through your hair, making you shiver, despite the temperature itself. ~~You feel like you’re being watched.~~

“I wanted to take care of them for him,” Frisk murmurs, finally.

You listen, despite your unease.

“...For them, too.”

“Who?” you ask.

They don’t elaborate.

And you fall into quiet once more.

When you go back inside, Frisk trailing slowly behind before heading up to their bedroom, you wonder if you were meant to hear what they’d told you.

They’d been talking to you. Answering your questions, glancing at you, sometimes—but they weren’t all there.

...They seemed to think _you_ weren’t entirely there.

It felt like something personal to them. Something they were reassuring to themselves, and only themselves.

And it felt like they were waiting for something.

Someone.

...

You swear you hear the wind howl outside the window, again.

You shiver, again.

You worry about everyone, again.

...

You think about him again. If he’s doing okay right now. He wasn’t yesterday.

What should you do?

What can you do?

(Should you do _any_ thing?)

You don’t know.

You don’t.

You can’t think.

...

So you try not to, anymore.

Instead you decide to talk to someone.

* * *

If not for the call she got this morning, Alphys is not sure she’d be looking into this as deeply as she is now. It’s not that she’s not willing to help in any way she can: it’s just the past few weeks have been kind of stressful for her and Undyne. For one they purposely lowered Undyne’s pay again, for no reason; Alphys tried to get a job herself to make up for it but there’d been no luck with that. Not a lot of jobs around here required her set of skills, being a former scientist and all—the most she could do is work at a hospital, or a doctor’s office, but... Working in the medical field isn’t exactly something she wants to do just yet. ~~She doesn’t think she could handle it, not so soon again.~~

Plus, it was hard enough for Undyne to get a job as a police officer. Why would she be any different?

She’s tried pushing those thoughts out of her head, for now. She knows dwelling on it will just make her anxiety about it worse, so she figures researching this is a best-case scenario anyways. (And it’d at least make her useful in something.) Thus, here she is now, looking more into all the studies humans have done on magic and souls.

Granted, Alphys isn’t sure any of this is going to actually provide anything, but maybe it’ll give him _some_ comfort. ...Or maybe she _will_ find something of value, who knows, really? Maybe—

Her phone starts blaring familiar music, silencing that thought quickly.

...Okay, hold that thought. (This better not be him again...)

Rubbing at her temples, she grabs her phone and answers, putting it up to her ear. “Hello?” she asks into the receiver, just a bit wearily.

 _“Uh, hey,”_ comes your voice a beat later, and she relaxes. _“Can I... If you’re not busy, is it okay if I—”_

You cut yourself off abruptly and your voice disappears into the background, addressing someone unintelligibly; with a touch of worry, Alphys stammers, “I-is everything okay?”

There’s a pause. Then, your voice drifts back.

 _“...Um, yeah, everything’s fine.”_ You sound... Confused? And slightly wary, for some reason? _“I mean, is it—do you have, uh, time for both me and Frisk? They want to come too, apparently.”_

That’s... A little odd. Does Frisk know what you two might be doing in the lab, or...?

“S-sure!” Alphys confirms anyway. Whatever their reasoning, “It’ll be nice to see them again; I haven’t seen them in a while. O-oh, and it’d be nice to see you again too!” she quickly adds, for fear of having hurt your feelings somehow, but you respond with audibly no hard feelings:

_“Great! Does one work? I should be let off from Grillby’s by then.”_

“Yeah, a-any time is fine.”

 _“Alright, see you then!”_ you chirp—maybe a bit _too_ enthusiastically, she notes. _Forcibly_ so, as though you’re trying to...

You’re trying to get your mind off something, aren’t you? That’s what this is for.

...Well.

If that’s the case, she hopes she can be a good distraction, for what it’s worth. She certainly needs one. (Probably.)

Maybe this visit will do you _both_ some good.

* * *

Alphys had told you and Frisk to just walk in, and that she’d unlock the door for you; and while you know she’s just downstairs in the lab, when you enter through the door, the house is almost startlingly quiet.

Frisk, which you’ll give credit to, does not seem bothered at all like you and immediately starts heading for the elevator down the hallway. Of course, you follow them, and they’re the ones to press the button to head down—likely for the best anyway, as there’s a couple of other buttons there. You’d probably stumble your way through them before reaching the lab itself.

Some shifting below you and a small beep later, the doors open again and Frisk hops out, you not far behind. Immediately the child begins leading the way, going the same direction Alphys had taken you your first time here. You shouldn’t be surprised they’d know this place better than you do _~~Don’t~~_ ~~you?~~ but it still intrigues you, in a way.

The two of you finally reach your destination, and you see some of the room has changed since you last saw it. Another desk has been added, along with a new chair, and the bookshelf, once fully stocked, is nearly empty now, save for just a few books. Alphys is in her own rolling chair at her old desk, and when she sees you and Frisk, she spins herself in the chair around, her face breaking out into a beaming smile.

“H-hi, guys! H—”

A device next to her starts blaring music, _loud_ , and the scales on her cheeks somehow simultaneously pale _and_ turn pink.

“E-excuse me,” she stutters, nervously going back to fiddle with what you now recognize as a phone. She answers it swiftly, saying a greeting into the receiver that sounds just a _bit_ annoyed.

Someone replies on the other end, seemingly, and she pales even further.

“Wh-what? ...No?”

You watch Frisk absently out of the corner of your eye, trying not to listen in on the call. Of course, you still hear Alphys squeak out a borderline indignant, “I-I’ve _been_ looking!”

You shuffle your feet uncomfortably.

“O-okay, okay, I _get_ it, but—but _please_ , calm _down_ , you’re... I can tell you’re not doing well, you should...”

Even less consoled, you go over to Frisk, who is now sitting on the rug in the middle of the room, their face buried in one of the books they’d borrowed from the shelf.

“Just _eat_ something, then!” Alphys suddenly barks, making you jump. You glance back at her, a little unnerved to see her uncharacteristically scowling and glaring at the nearby wall.

Um...?

“Okay, that’s! That’s fine, S—okay. Yeah, you do that.”

She huffs, briefly meeting your disturbed gaze, before going back to stare daggers into her own hands.

“Now can you please, just... _Get_ some rest, and _stop_ calling? I’ve got things to do, and—(Y/N)’s _over_ _here_ right now, you know. ... _YES_ , and she’s hearing all of this right as we speak.”

There’s a very noticeable break in the conversation.

Then...

“Language,” Alphys scolds the phone, before pausing and adding, “Yeah, well, better me than Papyrus—now, _good_. _Bye_.”

And with that, it ends, with her dropping the phone heavily back on the desk and caressing the sides of her head with a soft groan. “Sorry,” she sighs, wiping a bead of sweat off her forehead. Already pretty much having your theory confirmed, you blankly tear your eyes away from her.

“It’s fine,” you say emotionlessly—at least, as best you can. You feel like your voice is on the verge of wavering, and you have to know, even if you might not like the answer. “Is...” _Is he alright?_ “Is everything alright?”

She replies readily with a, “Yes.” You open your mouth again, possibly to ask something further, so she reaffirms, “It’s nothing. He’s just... Whatever, can—can we just,” she clacks her claws together, looking uneased, “c-can we please, um, move on?”

You nod, your attention still on the phone, until you forcefully tear it away to something else once more. “I... Don’t really have anything I need help with today, I guess,” you say, slowly biting out the words, your soul reluctant to continue this, but your mind telling you otherwise. “I thought I could, just... Hang around here? Maybe find something?”

You’re just blabbering. You know you have no idea what you’re saying; you have nowhere to start.

...

...But,

don’t you?

Your mind is on the fritz right now, along with your soul, and all you can think about is one thing or another—and Alphys has chosen to ignore the “one thing” for now.

You _need_ to know, once and for all. Even if she doesn’t know. (She doesn’t. She can’t.)

Just rip it off like a bandage, you say to yourself.

You see Frisk fidget out of the corner of your eye, as you blurt out your question: “Do I have a sister?”

Alphys’s features pale yet again, and you see something like uncertainty flash in her green eyes.

“I asked one of the nurses about it when I was at the hospital,” you go on, just a little shakily. “She said I didn’t.”

At that, the lizard monster furrows her brows.

“That’s—sh-she shouldn’t have told you that? I-if you thought you had a sister, then—”

“ _Do_ I?”

She falters, and right then, it hits you.

“I... Th... That’s n-not really, f-for me to say...?”

It hits you like a punch in the gut.

She knew you.

She’d _know_.

_(She **doesn’t**. Why are you lying to yourself?)_

“Do you remember me having a sister?” you ask, blatantly, though the crack in your voice betrays your forwardness.

Alphys stares back at you, just as outwardly frightened as you are inwardly.

The silence stretches out before the both of you, suffocating, and deadly.

You hear her swallow.

“...You...”

Her voice comes like a godsend through the quiet, and yet unsettles you all the same.

“You n-n-never... Never said anything, b-before, a-about...”

You stumble backwards.

“I-I mean—you—you—you n-never said, a-a-anything about h-having a family at all—”

She cuts herself off,

“B-but th-that doesn’t...”

Why does it surprise you?

(She’s just lying.)

But she’d _know_.

Everyone else has seemed to know you. They know _everything_ , they...

(They’re _lying_. They _can’t_ know. They’re just—)

But you used to play piano. You used to live in this city, with the people here. You knew them.

You knew Frisk, and Toriel, and Alphys, and Papyrus and Asgore and Undyne and—

...

And Sans.

You know Sans.

Gods, he was your husband.

He _was_. He never _lied_ , he _loves_ you, that’s why...

And you used to—

Why is this _just now_ hitting you?

Why did it take so, _so_ very long, to truly understand?

Maybe you do have a sister. Maybe you do have a family somewhere, that you just never talked to anyone about.

But why was that more important to you than your friends? Your experience _here_?

How could you have been such an idiot?

Sure, you knew something was off before, and you’d promised to understand better but—

You laugh, tears springing to your eyes.

Gaster was right.

You _know_ , now.

You turn away from Alphys, an odd weight seeming to lift off your shoulders, your mind feeling just a bit more cleared, even if just a bit. You need to apologize, for real—to reassure them you’re _aware_ , now, and you’ll try to do the best you can, certainly, this time. For them. For everyone.

“Frisk, I—”

They’re not there.

Only the book lies in their place, still open to the middle, face-up and abandoned.

Your smile disappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you are _welcome_ for the abrupt cliffhanger ending; also, a b o u t t i m e (i mean Gaster kinda helped her realize it first but still--)


	35. Ghosting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where's Frisk...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =)
> 
> (also this chapter makes zero sense, sorry--)

Your feelings about your revelation are short-lived.

So much so, that instantly, all thinking you’d done is dashed, completely gone out the window. Like whatever high (if you can even call it that??) you just rode had never happened.

In your stupor you hear the light pitter-patter of Alphys’s claws on the floor as she walks closer to you; your eyes rove back to her, blankly, as she bites her lip nervously in response.

When you two just stand in awkward silence, you scratch at the top of your head, a bit confused, as well as embarrassed for your outburst. “S... Sorry, about that.” You’d _like_ to know what’s wrong with you right now, and why your emotions are all over the place, but...

What about Frisk? Aren’t you supposed to be watching them, since they came with you and you were kind of in charge of them...?

“D-don’t worry, u-um—th-they can take care of themselves? I-I think you need to, um, sit down.”

...Maybe. You _are_ feeling tired, suddenly.

And you really need to think things through, probably. Your soul itself feels abnormally heavy— _almost_ relieved, but so, so exhausted.

You take up Alphys’s chair after she offers it to you, and distantly watch her checking some security cameras, with seemingly no luck as to how her face is scrunching up every so often in frustration. You rub at your temples, hoping against hope you’ll start thinking clearly soon, because this is getting ridiculous.

* * *

Alphys decides that, for _now_ , she won’t be concerned about your mental state. You seem fine enough, and that did seem like something you would have thought sanely, just...? Not so abruptly?

It’s very confusing, she’ll say that. But she’s more concerned about the fact Frisk is completely _gone_. Like, nowhere in the house or lab gone. Exactly when had they snuck out? Had they been waiting for the perfect time to do so, to avoid getting caught? _Why_? Where have they gone?

She has so many questions—and quite honestly, she’s not sure she should stress you out more by relaying this information to you.

...Then again, while she does believe Frisk is a strong, independent human and can most certainly fair well on their own, they’re also still a _child_ , and their whereabouts right now are completely unknown. There’s going to be Hell to pay if she doesn’t get this sorted out before Toriel hears of it.

Should she call Sans...? He could help...?

...Uh, no.

No, that’s a bad idea, for more than one reason. She can handle this herself. ...Probably.

Now, where would they go? Probably not back to Toriel’s house, if they’d wanted to stay there they likely would have never left.

...

Okay, well.

That’s it for the options here.

I mean, they _might_ be going Sans’s Papyrus’s place but that’s also pretty doubtful.

This certainly brings up a problem. There’s no possible leads. How does she—

Oh.

Oh, right, they have a phone. She might be able to get a hold of them.

Resisting the urge to smack herself in the face, Alphys brings out her own phone, huffing.

* * *

By the time they make it to the abandoned hotel, their legs are on the verge of burning, and with each long stride they take they let out a puff of air; yet they press on, determined. They don’t stop until they’ve reached their destination, and even then, they only pause briefly to gather themselves before heading inside.

It’s darker here than they remember, but... That’s to be suspected, they suppose. The Core’s been shut off and with it, all power in the Underground has gone. But, it’s still somewhat of a shock to see it in this state. (It feels... Empty.)

Thankfully, they do know the elevator’s power still works, at least (as Alphys has had to make a few trips down here since leaving for the Surface), so they’re not too worried ~~yet~~. They make their way into the small compartment, press the button, and wait for it to descend.

Their phone starts ringing.

They pause, and take it out—only to press ignore and continue with their waiting.

Much to their relief the elevator doesn’t malfunction this time, and it makes a safe land, all considered; they wait for the doors to slide open before stepping out and beginning another trek.

It’s... Even darker here.

Not that they’re surprised, really—it seems just as gloomy as they’d last seen it, just as silent, just as foreboding. ...At least, for the most part, it’s silent. Occasionally they hear a wind-like noise, blowing through the vacant corridors, but other than that, nothing.

Yet... Despite everything looking and acting as they expected, they can’t help but feel that familiar sense of unease. It even feels... More hollow, this time. And knowing the Amalgamates no longer roam this place does nothing to comfort them; if anything, it makes their skin crawl more so, knowing they’re alone here.

...Okay, well... Not _entirely_ alone.

They have a feeling a certain flower is watching them, at this very moment. That and, somebody is with them on this journey, of course—he’d been the one with the idea, after all.

(...They hope he’s right about this. They don’t want to spend another second here more than they have to.)

They’re relived when they finally come across the familiar room, and peek around the corner into the space. The flowers are still there, though noticeably more rotten and disheveled than they remember. They come closer, past the mirrors, until they reached the end, right before the second room with the keyhole.

They look around. Searching.

...

A minute passes, and nothing. Their shoulders sag a bit.

_T r y a n o t h e r r o o m ,_ Gaster suggests, and slightly the child nods, their determination having yet to waver despite this.

They can recall the first time they’d been here, to this particular area. The gigantic space is just that, now: a space, with nothing to hold. The machine has been relocated.

They... They feel that unease prick at them, again, just standing by the wall. They want to get out of here. They quickly go up towards one of the other “key rooms,” as they’d once dubbed it, and end up in another just-as-empty space.

The bookshelf is still here, without the books and various DVDs. The tapes are gone, but the TV hasn’t left.

They stop in the center of the room.

They’re not sure where to go from here, so they turn to their companion, who slinks the corner, peering at something.

“Where now?” Frisk asks, getting more deterred by the pressing moments.

_T r y t o “ s u m m o n ” t h e m a g a i n ._

But the tapes aren’t even here, Frisk wants to point out. Why would they want to come out _now_?

Still, they pause, and wait; silently hoping to see what they’ve been looking for; for what they’re looking for to show their face, finally, after all this time.

They can sense the ghost doesn’t want to do such—Frisk knows that’s the last thing they’d want.

But they need their help.

_Please, Chara,_ they beg, searching for some kind of sign of the ghost’s presence, somewhere in their mind or soul.

Nothing.

Gaster’s twisted smile turns into an uncharacteristic frown. He’s asking a silent question: Frisk thinks they know the answer, but...

They see something flicker out of the corner of their eye—something yellow. Quickly, they whip towards that yellow something, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Flowey.”

The flower looks at them, scowling, clearly uncertain about what their goal is.

“Help us,” Frisk goes on, pleading, “please. They’ll... They’ll show up for you.”

He glances away. “...Why force them?” he asks.

“We need their help. They...” Their voice falters. “They either have a part in this, or they know something _about_ it, they _have_ to—”

“What? Because _he_ told you?”

He glares at Gaster, who still slinks in the corner. In response, the amorphous being gives the flower a cold stare. _D o n ’ t p i n t h i s o n m e ; I ’ M t h e o n e w h o i s h e l p i n g t h e m ._

“Oh, come on! We _both_ know how much you hate humans! Don’t pretend you’re suddenly the good guy here—”

_E x c u s e m e ? N e e d I r e m i n d y o u h o w l o n g a g o t h a t w a s ?_

“Long enough for me to not forget!” Flowey snorts.

Gaster narrows his dripping eyesockets as best he can, fully prepared to retort the beginnings of a _, A n d y e t ,_ _y o u s e e m t o b e f o r g e t - t i n g w h a t Y O U –_

“Stop.”

The child’s voice cracks, but they get the point across, enough for both former monsters to turn their attention back to them. There’s a beat, and Frisk shakes their head, appearing conflicted.

“It doesn’t—it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Frisk,” Flowey starts, but they give him a look that shuts him up real quick.

“It’s a lost cause,” they say, almost as though in assurance, “don’t worry about it. Chara clearly doesn’t want to talk to me.”

_As they shouldn’t._

“But thank you.”

They smile kindly, looking at Flowey and Gaster in turn, before turning around and starting for the exit,

only to pass through a faded figure of a human in their path.

They back up abruptly, their own crimson eyes meet the ghost’s, just for a second before Chara pointedly avoids them.

Their familiar voice, curt yet formal, echoes in Frisk’s mind:

**...You called?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader's mental crash at the start is literally me right now btw--
> 
> i doubt i'll need a break but? this is just as a heads up i guess, in case that does happen?? i know i'm digging myself into some holes so, pfft, i don't want to suddenly disappear with no updates and not have any explanation as to why haha


	36. Call It As You May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk gets to talk to an old "friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm BACK 
> 
> aaCK thanks for over 200 kudos, you guys are amazing I cry
> 
> anyway here's next one; it's armelle22's bday today so i hope this makes their day even better :) (they also helped me out with font formatting on this story--haven't needed to use any fonts yet but i wanted to give them a shout out finally, so thank you to them for that!)

No response.

Well... She can't lie and say she's surprised, really. She'd just been hoping this would have turned out to be easier than it is; obviously, Frisk has a different idea in mind. She doubts trying again will bring a new result, so she leaves it be, and instead focuses on tracking down the location of their phone through complicated but necessary ~~and less than legal, probably~~ means.

Temporarily distracting her, Alphys hears a slight shuffling and suddenly, you’re a few feet beside her—still looking a bit frazzled, but... Seemingly fine. “Where are they?” you ask, with a tad bit of unease. (You seem to have figured out the situation on your own, then.)

“N-not sure,” is all the former scientist mutters, clicking a few more buttons. You fall silent.

Frisk must have done something to their phone because at first, it’s needlessly difficult to get any sort of clear reading on their location; that, accompanied with the phone in her hands screeching Hell at her briefly and flashing random glitched text before going back to normal.

...Well, then.

Alphys curses under her breath, mostly out of confusion. And that confusion is increased, not eased, when she gets what she’s been looking for:

Coordinates.

She looks over them on the screen.

She rereads them.

Then she rereads them again.

“What’s wrong?” she hears you ask, as her face pales.

She supplies with an air of blankness, “They’re underground.”

Like, _Underground_ , underground. And based on their location, they seem to be... (She rereads _again_ to double-check.)

...In the True Lab?

...

...

Well sh—

* * *

At first, Frisk has half the mind to be relieved.

This is what they wanted. They _asked_ for Chara to show up, and that’s what _happened_.

But, at the same time,

it doesn’t feel right.

It takes a moment or two, but Chara starts glaring at them, furthering their unease. **Is there something you would like to discuss with me? Or are we done here?**

The bitterness in their tone is palpable—along with something else Frisk can’t quite place. Not yet, at least. Linking their fingers together, they begin, “We—”

**No.**

“...What?” They furrow their eyebrows. “I didn’t even—”

**I know what you were going to say,** the ghost goes on nonchalantly, **and I refuse to help you.**

~~Why should they be surprised?~~ Even still, Frisk swallows the lump in their throat. “Please, just... Hear us out, Chara. I—I know you don’t like me—”

They hear the ghost snort, but they continue,

“but all—all I’m asking is if you know information about—”

**_Why_ ** **do you think I will help you?**

Finally, Frisk stops, their hands shaking. Chara no longer glares at them, only stares blankly back. **What could I have to offer this perfect world you created for yourselves?**

Frisk sighs.

“I... C-can I talk to you alone, Chara?”

The ghost raises a transparent brow at the subject change, but doesn’t object. **I suppose so.**

“Frisk,” Flowey starts, and when they turn to both the flower and forgotten monster, they see Gaster himself frowning deeply; even so they shake their head, trying to reassure them.

_I’ll be fine,_ they sign, before once more turning to their ghost companion. Instead of saying anything else they make their way out into the hallway once more, Chara subtly risking a glance behind them before floating behind.

The two now sit on the dusty floor in one of the corridors, Frisk’s legs having gotten tired. Neither of them say anything at first, and Chara seems keen on not pushing them—that, or they just don’t care.

They realize they must have been out here at least five minutes, because soon enough, they hear muttering from the other room—obviously signaling Flowey’s already in a debate with Gaster about something. Leaving those two in the same room is probably a bad idea, but... They don’t really want to have to say all of this in front of those two as well. This is awkward enough as is.

**And whose fault is that?** grumbles Chara’s voice, and Frisk smiles wearily at their form.

**_Sorry,_** they reply back, not aloud, but from within. They’d learned to communicate like this a few years ago; Chara didn’t know sign language (they still don’t) but since they shared the same soul, they could talk to each other that way. Like a thought system, sort of.

Chara makes an odd clicking noise with their tongue and goes on to say, **There is a reason I left, you know.**

Frisk blinks down at the dark tile. **_Okay?_** they prompt uncertainly, as the ghost huffs.

**...You seem awfully calm, considering you hate me.**

**_Why are you all over the place?_** the other child shoots back, turning on them with a slight glare. **_Wha—what_** ** _does that have to do with anything?!_**

****

**See, now, THAT attitude is what I was expecting.**

**_Chara!_ **

****

**Fine.**

Frisk stares them down, until they finally seem to falter, at least somewhat—and finally, they start to explain themselves, already knowing of Frisk’s questions.

**I do not see why it matters; though I am not the one that did this to (Y/N), I can tell you that. But I do not wish you help you in any way.**

**_Why?_** Frisk asks.

****

**Just think about it for a moment.**

Despite being confused, they try to.

**Who do you think would have interfered with everything? Who is likely trying to reach her, even now?**

Frisk tries to think on it, rubbing their fingers together absentmindedly. Trying so hard to recall distant things. Trying to see what Chara is getting at here.

**_I don’t know,_** they admit, with a slight air of desperation. Chara sighs, an echoing, strange sound.

**Alright.**

And they stand up, no longer sitting by Frisk’s side. The other child follows them quickly, already beginning to panic. **_Wh—_**

****

**I already told you, I am not going to help you.**

**_But you obviously know wh—_ **

****

**Please stop.**

Just like that, Frisk falters, too.

Their soul aches, aching for someone they barely know; someone they’d considered their rival, not too long ago. Someone they’d called a demon.

But now...

**Please stop, Frisk. I cannot help you,** they repeat, voice shaking, **you know I cannot. Do not talk to me again.**

**_Chara..._ **

****

**Please.**

****

“ _Frisk_!”

Chara is gone.

Frisk heads into the bed-room, and there you stand with Alphys, her holding a device of sorts, with her phone tucked away in her pocket. They say nothing, and do nothing, even as you suddenly rush forward to them, capturing them in a hug they weren’t expecting from you.

They don’t care.

Because they know this is their fault. Chara’s reluctance, Sans’s grief, even _you_...

It’s all their fault.

And right now,

The only thing they wish to do, is remember. Remember everything—recall what Chara was talking about. They’d told them they should know. Why don’t they?

...

Heh...

What a sorry excuse for an “angel” they are. They can’t save anyone, after all. How could they? How _can_ they?

...

They can’t. That’s the short end of it.

They can’t,

because they couldn’t even save themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaya Frisk's having a mental breakdown--
> 
> anYWAY
> 
> i'll be starting school tomorrow so i don't know how much free-time i'll have to write from now on; thus i might disappear again haha, but we'll see, i have a sporadic posting schedule
> 
> thanks for reading, as always!! <3
> 
> (and as always there's an explanation for this i swear--)


	37. Abyss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so if it wasn't obvious already (and this is a mega late thing to be saying), i never really had anything special planned to celebrate the 5th anniversary of Undertale; personally i just celebrated it myself by watching the orchestra live and that was it lol (it was absolutely amazing by the way--unpopular opinion but any UT medley that includes Last Goodbye is automatically a plus in my book--)
> 
> anyway, i didn't really plan anything because honestly, nothing i put out can really do this game justice. call it cliché but this game literally changed my life in different ways--oddly enough it made me see things differently. i wouldn't be where i am now without it, which is really weird to think about haha. and ironically enough the fandom itself kind of kept my love for the game alive; it's kinda amazing how much writing fanfiction has shaped my writing skills as a whole lmbo. regarding that, writing this particular fic has been really fun, and i appreciate all the support. but i'd still like to put a spotlight on the original game, because said fic wouldn't exist without it. everything i put into this story and its plot is heavily inspired by it (obviously haha) and in the end i can't really take much credit for anything; that goes to Toby Fox and everyone else in the end.
> 
> i'm saying all this like it's the end of this story but it's not haha!! i just figured the least i could do was at least acknowledge what this game has done for me. it's cheesy to say, i know, but thank you to the fandom, Temmie, and Toby Fox respectively for taking part in shaping my life the way it is now.
> 
> and thank you, from the bottom of my heart once more, for reading! ^^ now to continue with the story haha--

When you first spotted Frisk, you hadn’t really registered anything was wrong. You’d just been happy to see them; so happy, in fact, that you apparently found it necessary to embrace them.

And now that you’ve pulled away, you not only have a space to feel awkward about it but also notice something’s... Off. They’re not exactly as suddenly, almost-bipolar-happy as you are. Granted, you’re you and you’re probably crazy in many different ways, but you’re also not sure they even hugged you back, and _that_...

It kind of freaks you out, not going to lie.

But still, you say nothing about such, figuring you’d end up making the situation worse in your odd mental state—you think you’ve had enough excitement for one day, that’s for sure. Same probably goes for them.

What were they doing here, anyway...?

You hear a couple of beeps behind you, and turn back to see Alphys fiddling with the other device she’d brought along with her phone. “I-I thought I’d fixed it!” she hisses, not-so-gently hitting it a couple of times.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I-it’s—it’s malfunctioning again, I—damn it!” She slaps it against her palm, not at all resulting in the disappearance of the error message on the screen.

It had given you some trouble before coming here, but it’d _worked_ , at least, saving you the trouble of the journey over here. And she obviously didn’t bring any tools with her to try and fix the actual wiring or magic in it, so if old-fashioned Beating It To Death doesn’t work, then...

The three of you will be getting home pretty late, that’s for sure.

“Well—” you supply, only to cut yourself off when the sound of an incoming phone call echoes through the lab. It takes you a whole of five seconds and another loud ring to make you realize it’s _your_ phone, and you fumble to get it out of your shirt’s pocket, putting the receiver up to your ear quickly. “Uh, hello?”

_“(Y/N)!”_ The person on the other end, Toriel, lets out a small sigh of relief, _“I am glad you picked up; I was beginning to worry about you two. For some reason my calls could not get through.”_

“Oh.” You blink, eyeing Alphys, who wrings her hands together nervously as she listens. “Um, that’s probably because we’re Underground?”

_“...Underground?”_

“Um. Yes,” you say, “there was, uh, a mix-up, so. We’re here now. And it might take us some time to get back, but—Alphys is with us, she can help. We might be able to get the device working again. ...It. Teleported us here, in the first place. ”

Understandably, the monster pauses for quite a bit, taking all of this bewildering information in. Then, finally: _“I am not sure it is a good idea to risk it, (Y/N).”_

“Why not?”

_“The sun has started setting, and it will be nightfall soon. I do not want you and Frisk out alone at this hour.”_

“But we’re not, Alphys is—”

_“I do not want her out alone either,”_ Toriel interrupts, not unkindly. _“I am sure you three can handle yourselves quite well, but...”_ She pauses again, and you get the sense she’s mulling something over—something important. Something you might be missing. _“I still would rather not risk it, if I could.”_

“Well, we... We still have the device. Maybe we can get it working again.”

_“Oh, there is no need to worry about that, dear. I’d rather be sure everyone is safe. Now, if you can, please give me a moment, I will call you back when I’m done.”_

Uh, what? “Okay?” you manage, despite the uncertainty in you, and wanting to know what the heck she’s doing.

“Wait _nO—_ ”

Without warning Alphys lunges for your phone, but when she listens in on it, she only hears the dial tone. Her entire façade shrinks in on itself, and without saying a word she hands back your phone and promptly buries her head in her hands.

“No no no, she’s going to call him isn’t she _noooo_ ,” she continues to moan.

You echo your previous thought: “Uh, what?”

“ _She’s_. Going to wake him up, oh my gods why.”

It’s then you realize,

and you mirror Alphys, covering your own face with your hands in despair.

* * *

Despite every part of his being screaming complaints, Sans wakes up.

It’s not of his own volition, but rather his own phone screaming just as loudly as his soul. To his credit he _had_ actually been sleeping well, all things considered. He doesn’t feel _as_ tired or groggy as he normally does. Nothing hurts _as_ much as it did. But he’s not too torn up over being in the waking world again. If anything it’s a good thing, because he realizes he almost slept through the entire day.

...Well, sort of. It’d only been a couple of hours or so since he’d last talked to Alphys, so not really a _whole_ day—even so, there’s so much more he could have been doing during this time and it irks him, even after the fact of this. He could have been more useful.

So, he’s glad he’s been woken up, and glad somebody thought it necessary to call him for whatever reason, because whatever reason that is is probably more important than his wellbeing.

He picks his phone up off the bedside table, quickly scanning the name of the caller before answering. “hey tori,” he greets her, his voice gravelly and slurred enough to make himself wince and the former queen audibly come to a halt.

_“...Oh, I am sorry, did I—”_

“uh, no, no. i was uh, just getting up, actually.”

_“Oh,”_ she repeats, and thankfully, she sounds convinced. Sans just barely relaxes. _“Anyhow, I... If it is not too much for you, I was hoping I could ask you for a favor.”_

Without thinking he responds, "sure."

_“I did not say what it is yet,”_ she points out, and by reflex he shrugs.

"i guess. what is it?"

_“Well, I am afraid Frisk and (Y/N) have gotten themselves in a... Peculiar situation?”_

He perks up at that, listening just a bit more intently.

_“Now that I think about it, I probably should have had (Y/N) call you instead, but I figured she—err, anyway!”_ He silently thanks her for getting to the point, _“Apparently they are in the Underground with Alphys. Do not ask me why they are there because I have no clue,”_ she quickly adds.

...Hmm. Well, then.

_“They do seem to have a teleporting device with them, but (Y/N) said it is currently malfunctioning—that is where you’d come in. I... I do hate to bother you, but I am afraid of them walking home by themselves in the dark. You understand, don’t you?”_

...Yeah.

Yeah, he does.

And now _he’s_ worried.

Sans rubs at his eyesockets, trying to further will himself to awareness. "yeah, so where _are_ they, down there?"

...

"um, tori?"

_“...I did not ask her that.”_

Oh.

Great.

"alright, it’s... that’s fine. i can just find them myself.” He pulls himself to his feet, almost robotically.

_“Are you sure? I would not want you expending yourself, or...”_

"nah, i’m good,” he lies. “i’ll bring ‘em home soon, okay?”

_“...Okay. Thank you.”_

Now with a bit of nervous energy, Sans grabs his jacket and slippers, re-donning them and stuffing his phone into one of the pockets. He then heads out into the hallway, already preparing an explanation for Papyrus in his head.

* * *

“Let’s just start heading back,” you sigh, not too keen on waiting around and seeing what happens.

Frisk seems to get the right idea along with you and captures your hand in one of their own, thought pointedly staring at their feet when you start leading the way out of the lab. Alphys shuffles along behind the both of you, every once in a while trying to do something to get her device to work somehow.

With Frisk’s help you manage to maneuver your way through a hotel and to a building called “The CORE;” unfortunately the elevator to the top is apparently in use, so you have to go the long away around. Again, Frisk aids in guiding you through, and you encounter little problems.

Even so, throughout the area you find yourself filled with a certain dread of sorts. You can’t explain it, and you wonder whether or not it’s just you—Alphys has stopped fiddling with her teleporting device, glancing around the barren building just as you are. She looks wary. Almost... Spooked.

You turn back to your own thoughts, redirecting yourself. Your eyes fall on the deep abyss surrounding you, seemingly empty and white, seeming to go on forever. You watch the way it seems to endlessly flow and bend backwards. It shifts, and you shift with it.

Distantly you see Frisk running ahead of you, leaving you. Suddenly you are alone. Completely alone, only the Void to accompany you.

You gaze into the Void.

It gazes back.

You see a figure on the edge of your vision, but you’re not scared when you face them.

You recognize them.

You feel the Void tugging at you, and you glance down, not pulling away. It tugs harder, almost painfully, wanting you to come closer, come over the railing.

You blink,

and then it ends.

Suddenly, you see Frisk, tugging on your arm, looking spooked. Alphys is by their side, looking just as frightened.

“(Y/N)?!” they insist. “(Y/N)!”

Frisk continues tugging, and you quickly face them with a smile, assuring them you’re okay. And you say as much, adding, “Just kind of zoned out, I guess.”

The child looks at you—and then lets go of you. They open their mouth, seeming ready to speak.

“hey, need a lift?”

You spin around, and see none other than Sans leaning against the railing behind you, giving a nonchalant little wave when you lock eyes(ockets).

You feel something stir inside you ~~—recognition?—~~ though it quickly disappears.

You shrug, all but forgetting what just happened. “Sure.”

Out of the corner of your eye Frisk backs up, away from you, and away from everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to split this up again s o r r y


	38. Woven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst all this chaos, you find yourself worrying about two of your friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i have no idea if i fixed the font or not, so on phones Sans might forever be talking in cursive, you're welcome--)
> 
> here's the next *dies*

“so, uh. mind tellin’ me why you guys are here?”

Briefly, you see Frisk back away once more; you don’t comment, however, and just make sure they’re not sneaking away again. “Well...” you start, just as you begin tearing your eyes back to him after a moment—and suddenly, the fogginess in your mind clears.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Wait, no, hold on,” you stumble, “we could! We could ask you the same thing.”

He looks at you weirdly ~~rightfully so, really~~ , and points out (while avoiding your own point), “uh? to take you home?? you literally just said, and i quote, ‘sure?’”

...You did say that.

Why.

“Yeah, well—that me was an idiot,” you retort. “And _current_ me is saying no.”

...

That sounded so much better in your head.

...For the split second you processed it before speaking it.

And, of course, Sans still stares at you with a skull full of bewilderment, as though you yourself are the most bewildering person he’s faced thus far. But just as quickly he smooths his expression into something softer, chuckling slightly even as he pointedly avoids your gaze. “okay,” he says lamely before going silent again.

“I-I agree with (Y/N),” Alphys adds, breaking said sudden silence, “you should go home. W-we can handle this on our own, and you need to—”

“sorry, al, but no can do,” Sans interrupts. This time, it’s her turn to narrow her eyes at him.

“Wh-why not?”

“’s kind of my sworn duty now to escort you guys.” He winks. “queen’s orders.”

“B-but—”

“seriously, what’s a little magic? i’ve been under house ar _rest_ long enough.”

No one laughs.

In replacement, Alphys opts to argue sternly, “Y-you know I specifically told you to hold off on _any_ type of...”

Sans shifts his gaze again with a tenser grin that before, a mixture of seriousness and nonchalance all at once; which you didn’t think possible, but, somehow... “yeah, i do know. but,” just barely noticeable, you see his eye-lights waver, “i did kind of make a promise, so...”

He’s says it like that’s a good enough consolation for _anyone_ ; and clearly the lizard monster beside you looks like she’d _really_ beg to differ at that. But instead, she just sighs, rubbing her forehead in a begrudging, almost tired manner.

“F-fine. ...But only because I know I can’t change your mind.”

And even so, she raises her eyes just to give the skeleton a pointed glare. You yourself cross your arms, feeling all sorts of disgruntled.

“Alright, let’s just get it over with,” you mumble, and you don’t look at him, even when you feel his gaze on you.

You get the feeling this is the definition of a bad idea,

but you’re not sure you can change his mind, either.

~~It doesn’t stop your soul from worrying.~~

As apparently he can only take one person with him at a time, Sans shortcuts Alphys back to her and Undyne’s first, leaving you and Frisk alone. Said child has been rather quiet—not that they’ve been very talkative at all this entire time, but with just the two of you, it’s much more noticeable.

Granted, you’re not much better; you have misgivings of your own whirling around in your brain.

~~Sans isn’t okay. Why is he pushing himself? How can you help him?~~

But at the same time, you don’t really like how quiet it is here. You need something to fill in the blanks, even if just for a minute, or even a few seconds.

“So, um. Are you done with school completely yet?” you bring up, trying to converse despite the steadily-growing pit in your stomach; pretend to be casual, just for now.

In response, Frisk glances at you, looks away, then rolls their shoulders in what can barely be described as a shrug.

~~...Why is everything so tense?~~

“It’s getting pretty hot out,” you add.

Another shrug.

(What the Hell are you doing...?)

The tension, seeming to have come out of nowhere, increases yet.

You feel...

Odd.

(Should you even continue?)

“You, um... Do you like science?”

~~(Why do you think this will work?)~~

The child hunches in on themselves, staring at their feet.

“...Frisk?”

No response.

Your concern overrides your previous thoughts.

“Are you okay?” you find yourself asking, finally.

In reply, they nod, almost curtly. Almost too quickly.

You should say something else. You know you should.

...

You find that you can’t, this time.

You _wish_ you could say something to them, but you can’t find it in you—you don’t know _what_ to say. You want to ask why they ran off, what they were doing in Alphys’s old lab; you want to understand what’s going on inside their head.

You want to tell them about Gaster, and how he helped you realize things about yourself. You want to tell them about your own revelation of sorts, and how you’re truly going to try to be a better person; a better friend, now.

But you can’t. You’re afraid to try.

So none of that leaves your mouth.

You stay silent, even when Sans returns. You think he asks you if you’re okay—but you just tell him to take Frisk home before you, and leave it at that. He eventually does though, of course, pop back a moment later.

As you stare out over the railing, you feel something brush your shoulder, just barely.

You turn to him, a bit dumbly, watching as he retracts his hand.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, and automatically you shake your head.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking,” you reply. His expression doesn’t budge much, so you include, “I’m worried about Frisk.”

He seems to study you, before saying, “you guys were here ‘cause of them, weren’t you?”

You blink.

“Uh... Yeah. How’d you know?”

“only person i know who’d consider coming back here.”

“Oh.” You absently turn your eyes to the railing again.

“that,” Sans goes on after a moment, “and i kinda figured they’d try to do something like this.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He stuffs one hand into his pocket. “i assume they’re trying to get chara to come back out?”

Your face takes on a blank, unreadable expression.

“Who?”

“y’know, that ghost i told you about?”

Your eyebrows furrow further.

“...what?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, “uh, we should probably get going.” With that you abruptly stick your hand out for him to take, hoping he’ll let the matter drop.

Sans spares your outstretched hand a brief glance, his grin faltering, somewhat.

But then, he steps closer to take it, and you feel significantly more relieved.

~~For some reason.~~

A beat later, after the floor dips and is replaced with stone beneath you and the initial dizziness fades, you let go of Sans’s hand, and...

Without thinking you rush to steady him, supporting him by propping your hands on his shoulders—he regains his balance quickly but even still you linger for longer than you probably should, already in the process of blurting, “Wh—are you okay, what happened?!”

You’re fairly certain he wouldn’t have actually fallen over _completely_ , but...

~~It still scared you.~~

“uhhh, heh,” he laughs/coughs, voice as wavery as the rest of him. “just a... glitch?”

He blinks at you, smile a bit lopsided, his entire face looking... Pale blue? You figure it must be the lighting—or lack thereof.

Your irritation with him returns full-force as you glare back at him, and begin inwardly blaming yourself. Once you get your thoughts in order, however: “This is exactly why you should have been home _resting_ ,” you inform him, borderline flatly.

And then you pull away, though you still keep your attention on him, your mouth twisted in a deep frown. You figure by now that even if you ask him again if he’s okay, he’s probably not going to give you a straight answer; so reluctantly, you temporarily look away to take in your new surroundings.

Sure enough you’re back in front of Toriel’s home, standing on the small path leading to the side door, illuminated only by a single dim light on the side of the house. You assume Frisk must be inside already, hopefully preparing for bed, if not already in it.

You should probably head in too, but...

“...sooo... see you...?”

“Wait,” you halt him, turning your attention back in an instant. And once more, you make note of his appearance—notably the way he still seems wobbly on his feet, and keep himself up right.

He’s obviously _exhausted_.

...Why did you let him help you in the first place?

You know you didn’t have much of a choice then, but...

But now, you don’t have to worry about that.

So, softly, you say, “Thank you. Now please, go home.”

_And stay **there** , damnit._

...

Wait, can he even— “Will you be able to—”

“oh yeah, it’s fine,” he assures you, already way ahead of you, apparently. “i can just go straight to my room from here. ...i’ll probably sleep in tomorrow though, heh.”

“Good,” you affirm, and he chuckles, a quiet and genuine sound.

~~You wish he’d laugh more often.~~

After a pause of certified awkwardness between the two of you, you begin, “Well, I should... It’s late, I probably should, uh... You know.”

Just as you put your hand on the knob, you hear him copy you by saying “wait.”

You do, facing him with a slight, questioning smile. “Yeah?”

“good night.”

“Oh, err—good night!”

He just stares at you for a moment, seeming... Lost?

Then...

“good night,” he manages, likely for lack of anything to say.

“...You already said that.”

“oh.”

You snort. “Good night, Sans.”

With one last little wave, you step inside the house, and close the door behind you.


	39. A Quiet Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something (but not even close to everything) is explained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming of This Chapter's Name Is From [This Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WY0QcSQf_mc)
> 
> and also this one might be less coherent than usual again, at least in the way i wrote it--i'm trying to get this "arc" (as in mini-plot with Frisk keeping secrets) outta the way to make more room for the main, main plot, but i'm not entirely up to my writing game just yet because it's been a super busy and complicated week because kittens, 
> 
> u m,,
> 
> ANyhow, i still wanted to update this mainly due to the fact i needed to write at least something (otherwise i'd go crazy); in the meantime i'll be over here taking my regularly scheduled break-that-isn't-a-break :'))

The morning following your little “adventure” with Frisk, you wake up bright and early to start the day. ...That is, you wake up before anyone else, even just a little before the crack of dawn splits the sky. You don’t feel quite as tired as you used to, nor as aloof, so you use that to your advantage—as much as you can, anyhow.

You start working on washing the dishes once more, trying to get your mind off things just like last time; you’re not bothered by your thoughts as much, but some of them still nag in the back of your brain, questioning you and assuring you all at once.

You... _Recognize_ something. Something in Frisk’s behavior, and...

That name Sans mentioned.

Chara.

You _do_ know them—well, you used to? It’s... It’s hard to grasp, fully, because at the same time something else is telling you to ignore this matter. Ignore their existence.

But, supposedly, they’ve not only been haunting Frisk, but—they might be the answer to all of this, too. They have to be, right?

~~(Who are you kidding?)~~

~~You’re not supposed to be concerned about this anymore. You still have your _friends_ to think about, your...~~

(You’re supposed to be looking for your _sister_. How could finding _them_ give you anything?)

You don’t know what the true solution is here. You never did. Maybe you never will.

But you still recall the promise you’d made, of course. And that’s the only thing your soul is certain of.

(And what promise _was_ it?)

(How do you know he’s not making it up? Just putting it into your head?)

You just... Know.

...Probably.

* * *

When Frisk climbs down the stairs, they’re a bit startled to see you sitting at the table, sipping a cup of coffee, and looking directly at them upon their appearance.

Surprisingly (or, maybe not), your eyes look troubled, your mouth twisted into a deep frown, despite them being there. They can’t imagine you’ve gotten much sleep either, but you don’t seem particularly tired—not physically, at least.

They wonder, for perhaps the first time, if this is truly getting to you.

“Hey,” you say, interrupting their silence, “can I talk with you for a minute?”

Almost immediately they think of saying no. Almost immediately they consider fleeing entirely, bolting back up the stairs to their bedroom, maybe even locking the door if they have to, or crawling out the window but—

...No.

They know they shouldn’t avoid anyone anymore. At least, not like that, exactly.

They really, really don’t want to hurt you—but they’re not sure they have a choice. One way or another, you’re going to get it out of them, whether they like it or not.

Maybe, if they tell you... You’ll avoid them on your own terms. You’ll know the things they’ve done.

How they... Failed.

~~How they failed you, though they can’t remember _truly_ how.~~

So solemnly, while knowing their selfish soul will regret it later, they walk over and sit down.

* * *

All things considered, it was easier than you thought.

The truth had spilled from their lips like blood (though however morbid the thought may be), nearly not at all prompted by you—just themselves. They fought back a tear or two, but their face remained stony and unfazed for the most part, like it didn’t truly bother them.

Like they don’t care, now.

...

You know better.

And while part of you is most certainly glad Toriel isn’t here anymore to have witnessed this, another, fairly strong part of you wishes she had been. Maybe because you know that Frisk _does_ care—despite all they’ve told you.

They were just a child, when it happened: The Fall; the Barrier breaking; even when monsters were declared citizens just a few, long months later, they hadn’t truly known what they were doing.

Even so, they’d been merciful. Even so, they didn’t listen at first, to themselves, or...

But on the very day they turned nine, their own birthday, almost a year after the infamous emancipation, they couldn’t take it anymore.

_They snapped._

_They had Reset quickly, hoping to get it over with fast, hoping the feeling of there being something new and **different** would satisfy them enough that they could **enjoy** all of it. And their partner, the ghost, convinced them, too. Said the next Reset would merely erase it away; they just had to take a chance. See what outcome would occur this time. See all the possibilities._

_So, they did,_

_but they never made it past Sans._

_They could barely even try, then. They just... Couldn’t._

_The way he glared at them, then—furious and disgusted and **horrified**. _

_They found they couldn’t do that to him. Not **him**. They could tell he’d already been through so much—too much._

_They couldn’t._

_They couldn’t continue._

_And they backtracked._

_This time, they spared everyone again, befriended them, again. Chara went back to being just a voice—merely something that whispered in the back of their head, nothing more. Something less powerful, now._

_They destroyed the barrier once more with Flowey’s help. He never recalled a thing about helping them, in what sins they committed. Nobody did, other than Sans._

_They thought they could make things better. It didn’t matter, now, their own twisted curiosity. They just wanted everyone else to be happy. They truly did care._

“But _you_ made everything better,” they had said, voice cracking painfully, “you were—all I wanted to be for them, all I ever...”

They stopped, after that. Trailed off into nothing.

Now, you two simply sit in silence, watching the clock tick by—watching the child across from you shake and quiver and try not to cry, even now.

Now you know.

You wonder if they told past you all of this, too. You wonder why things turned out the way they did. You wonder a lot of things.

...

You wonder...

You wonder how Sans must feel.

“Now I know why Chara did what they did.”

Their sudden spoken words recapture your attention, and you blink at them, and the bitterness in their expression.

“We’re all awful,” they choke out, without much warning, causing your brows to fly up. “All of us, except—you were the only—”

“Stop.”

Your voice is firm, and comes out colder than you were trying to make it; instantly, you soften it again, saying quietly, “You should just... Stop. Please. I’m not mad at you.”

“...You’re not?”

“No. And not all... Not all humans are awful.” Your gaze hardens, slightly.

Huh.

If only you could get Chara to talk to _you_...

“It’s not their fault, it isn’t,” they add quickly, as though hearing your thoughts, somehow, “they’ve been through a lot—”

“I was planning on trying to talk to them anyway. Don’t try to change my mind,” you say, and without looking back you stand up and march on over to the kitchen sink, before dumping the last of your coffee down the drain.

You’re not... Mad, exactly.

You suppose you have every right to be, especially at Frisk, but... You’re mostly numb. And you almost _get_ it, to a certain point.

When you were a kid, you did dumb stuff too, after all.

You don’t think you’re mad at Chara, either—mostly because you hardly know them. But they’ve still definitely got some explaining to do, and you’re with the notion that Frisk was in the right in wanting to go seek them out (despite the roundabout way they did it); that’s your plan at this very moment.

It’s just a matter of how you’re going to do that.

_Ring, ring!_

...Hold that thought.

You dig your phone out of your shirt’s pocket, and press it up to your ear after reading the I.D. and answering. “Hi,” you begin without thinking, “please tell me you got sleep.”

_“...uhhh... yeah?”_

“...It doesn’t sound like it,” you say flatly, and he chuckles on the other end, nervously.

_“no seriously, i, uh—did, for the most part, but... wasn’t really expecting you to ask that??”_

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t expecting you to call me,” you say honestly, hesitating as he hesitates.

_ “oh, uhh. checking in, i guess. ...you and the kid alright?” _

“Yeah, why?”

Again, Sans hesitates. _“just wondering. since last night, all of **that**... happened.”_

Your expression furrows deeply as you process your next response. “...Uh, actually. They... They told me, what Chara did to them.”

_“oh. really?”_

...

He... Doesn’t sound surprised?

Or even concerned, at all?

“Yeah,” you go on slowly, “they Reset to... T-they killed, everyone, Underground, because they can Reset and...? You know about that, right?”

You can practically hear him shrug as he responds, _“yeah. i was there when it happened.”_

“...You’re...” You laugh uncertainly—barely at all a laugh, really. “You’re taking my knowledge of this really well.”

_“i guess. ...i don’t know, it’s just,” _his voice is nonchalant, _“why care? got nothing else to lose anyhow.”_

...What?

_ “anyway. i should get going, Pap wants me to help him with something.” _

“Wait, Sans, don’t— _wait_.”

You pause, hoping the quiet you hear in response is him still being on the line.

What should you say?

“I’m... Sorry, that all of that happened. Um.” You wince at your own words. “I just... I hope, you know I’m here for you, if you need to talk...?”

...

Geez, that was _terrible_. Why can’t you learn to just—

_ “heh, thanks.” _

You think you hear his voice waver, just a bit, but it quickly disappears as he goes on, _“i really should go, though—see you later?”_

“Err, yeah. See you later.”

Still, even on that note, while you pocket your phone once more, you frown.

You... Feel like you haven’t fixed _anything_ , here. And you know you can’t expect to yet but—

Why does everything feel so wrong?

...

_Why do YOU feel so wrong?_


	40. Let the Pieces Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Frisk's confession, you once again try to make sense of the puzzles around you, and question your own sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop a surprise chapter

By the time evening arrives, Frisk has disappeared to their room. You’d let them go—not without fighting or protest, of course. You’d tried talking to them, convincing them to trust you and your words.

You’d even said you’d listen to them, now; that you believed everyone, and as such, you added you weren’t afraid to trust anyone anymore. You’d try to be a better friend to everyone.

...But.

They just looked at you with a vacant expression.

And you let them go.

You didn’t want to, but you let them start up the stairs, and vanish from your sight.

...

You don’t condone their actions at all. You’re not even sure if you’re ready to accept everything as it is now—not after what they did.

It’s still a lot to take in, and your brain feels just as fried, if not more so. And knowing that Sans knows too, you don’t blame him if he still holds that against them.

But again, you...

You feel like you can’t blame them for all of it, entirely. You still... Get it, to some degree? With a power like _that_ , you can see why it would be tempting; even if the idea happened to be extreme. It would be easy to erase the aftereffects, wouldn’t it?

Granted, you know that still doesn’t excuse it.

...And you also know you’re repeating your own thoughts to yourself, at this point. Maybe you just need rest.

~~Maybe you need to stop thinking.~~

But, what else is there to do, other than think? Isn’t that the only way to get things done here? Why should you stop trying to figure things out?

Why should you _stop_ —

“(Y/N).”

You blink yourself back to reality, and see Toriel standing in front of you, resting a hand on one of your shoulders. Her expression is one of deep concern, along with something more inquisitive, like she is silently trying to figure out what it is that’s distressing you.

You hadn’t even realized you’ve been staring off into space for the past two minutes—but you piece that much together, sensing your own lapse in “presentness.” Therefore you shake your head quickly and stammer out, “What?”

Given the okay to voice her worries, Toriel retracts her hand, saying softly, “You do not look so well.” Yeah, you could have figured. “What is troubling you? Have you been getting enough rest?”

That... Opens up a can of worms you don’t really want to look into, or address, for that matter. But she’s giving you this look you can’t quite shake; and you feel like she’ll know if you’re lying, or not telling the full truth, no matter how you dance around it.

With all the air of an exhausted teenager, you sigh reluctantly. “No, to the second question,” you say wearily. “First is... I don’t know. It’s. ...A lot.”

You feel like your brain is just barfing up words, at this point.

...And yet, your soul urges you to continue anyways.

Maybe because you’re tired of hiding things.

Maybe, you’re just tired in general.

You know you can’t tell her much about the situation with Frisk, but...

“...I...” You reflexively squint at the ground, as though trying to make sense of your own words. “They were... Trying to help me. Frisk, I mean. We were trying to get Alphys to help too but I guess—” You stop.

Should you mention Chara at all...?

...Probably not. That’s an entirely different can altogether.

You must have hesitate too long pondering this, for Toriel re-rests her hands gently on your shoulders. “Is that why you were all at the lab last night?”

You nod.

“If... I may ask,” she says slowly, her gaze empathetic yet probing, “what is it they were helping you with?”

You swallow as uncertainty takes hold of you again.

“When...”

~~Why do you feel so stupid, now?~~

You continue, trying to keep your voice clear of that previous uncertainty: “When I was still at the hospital I had these... Dreams, about someone? Th-they weren’t clear or anything—honestly, they were really vague, but—for some reason, I... My _soul_ knew who it was?”

Mostly out of fear, you don’t raise your eyes to see her reaction. You just keep making eye contact with the rug.

“And somehow I—I believed my soul—I remember that, our souls are our entire being, somehow? So I... I don’t know. But at the same time it was telling me that’s _not_ what I was supposed to be looking for, and...”

(You look like an idiot.)

...No. This is the right thing. ~~Right?~~

“But that person,” you mumble, just loud enough, “the person I saw. My soul told me it was—it was my sister.”

(She won’t believe you. Why did you bother trying to explain?)

You shake your head, almost furiously, before finally looking up to meet her gaze,

and you see a mixture of confusion, apprehension, and understanding swirling in her eyes all at once. Something’s turning in her head, a question of sorts perhaps, making her frown deepen and her eyebrows crease.

~~That proves it, doesn’t it? That it was just a lie?~~

You already know the answer.

...

Still.

It unnerves you, as she begins slowly, “That is... Strange.”

“Because I don’t have a sister,” you finish for her, but she shakes her head, raising a hand to stop your conclusion.

“Not necessarily,” she affirms. “You never talked about your family with _us_ , but that does not disprove their existence entirely. ...Though,” she scratches at her chin, “you also never really brought up _any_ of your past, now that I think about it. But, even so...”

...Oh?

Alphys said something similar, hadn’t she? Except...

“Did I... Ever allude to why?” you ask, just a tad nervously. Toriel shakes her head.

...But why wouldn’t you...?

“(Y/N), dear,” Toriel’s voice cuts in concernedly again, and she grips you tighter, almost trying to steady you. “I think it is best you get some rest now. We can deal with these matters later, alright?”

~~No, you need to figure this out, you _need_ to—~~

You nod dumbly, brain too fried to do much of anything else.

Like a zombie you let Toriel lead you up to the guestroom and to the bed, only half-aware of what’s happening; and when she leaves you to your devices you merely lay down on the mattress with the blankets and sheets beneath you, too dazed to bother changing into something more comfortable.

...Why does this surprise you? Even now?

Why are you surprised at anything _at all_ , anymore?

Was Toriel right? Did Past You never even...?

You...

You really need to figure this out.

...

But tomorrow.

Right now you can’t even think, much less keep your eyes open.

Right now, you’re just... Tired.

So, so tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~uh oh (Y/N) your husband is rubbing off on you--~~


	41. And Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A certain ghost observes things from a distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which everyone (except Sans, ironically enough) is having a pretty bad time :3
> 
> (and is this chapter just filler? mmmmmmprobably but it's still important to the plot--)

They watch you for a while as you give in to your exhaustion; and even as you lie still in slumber, they ponder you.

Honestly, it’d been a long time coming. They know you tend to dig yourself into holes, over and over again, until you drive yourself entirely into the ground. You work too hard for your own good—probably a result of your everlasting Determination.

Seeing you finally crash like this is... Odd. Even though you probably need it, it doesn’t change the fact it’s unusual for you.

That’s why they find it necessary to spy on you, now. They wonder what you’ll do next. They wonder how you’ll begin putting the puzzle together; if you will at all.

And they do all of this in secret, without your knowledge or wanting them to.

They’ve never been a very considerate being, after all.

...

And even now they refuse to help you. They refuse to relieve some of your troubles.

Not _because_ they are inconsiderate, but...

...

...You don’t need to know why.

You’ll never see them again, after all.

It will be better for the both of you that way.

Time flies by quickly enough, and Toriel checks on you when she wakes up.

They notice that she, too, looks exhausted, but likely for different reasons. They’ve never understood law and order—they were but a child, of course, even now—though they’ve more or less reached the conclusion that Toriel has been dealing with a lot of tiring politics and frustrating humans. She’s had to take a lot on her shoulders the past few months, with the former king in custody now, and for all these reasons they don’t blame her in the least for being fatigued.

That’s not even taking into account Undyne or Papyrus.

...

...It’s a shame, really, they think to themselves.

All this effort to get to the surface and find “happiness,” only to be met with all this suffering.

But that’s the why life goes.

That’s what they’ve been trying to tell everyone all along.

Even you.

...

Why does everything go back to you?

Frisk, too, doesn’t seem to be faring well—though that much they’d expected.

They sit at the table silently, giving short, rather curt responses to Toriel’s words and yours. You’re quiet too, but clearly not for the same reasons. They’ve distanced themselves, apart from you, apart from her; likely apart from everyone, when it comes down to it.

...

They’ve come so far and yet, this is where they’ve ended up.

...Heh.

For a moment, the apparition almost feels bad for the child—they were someone they’d once wished to call friend, even, but...

...

It’s too late now.

And they can’t really feel bad for them, not entirely.

Just like they can’t feel bad for you.

~~That’s what they assure themselves, anyhow,~~

~~for they’ll be lying, of course, if they say there isn’t a part of them that still longs to be more than just a ghostly spectator.~~

“Chara,” you try to summon, alone, in your room, some time past lunch.

They watch your efforts curiously from their position next to the closet, the way your hands tap nervously on your clothes as you wait for some kind of response— _anything_ , really.

But they don’t move.

“Please, I... I need to talk to you? If you’re here?”

You blink around the room, looking nothing short of disturbed, and probably feeling crazy by the obvious doubt in your features. “I, um—Frisk told me wh... What you did to them and? ...I’m not mad at you?” Clearly, a lie.

Honestly, they’d like to find this amusing.

They’d like to laugh at the uncertainty in your voice; the obvious fact even _you_ know you’re grasping at straws here.

But you’re tired.

“...I don’t... Know what else to do,” you admit, at last, weakly.

You don’t even know their intentions.

You could be talking to the very being that tried to kill you—and you won’t know that.

...Yet...

Yet.

You seem to trust them.

...

So they don’t give you more reason to.

They don’t make the effort to speak, or move, or prove their existence at all; prove you’re not just crazy, and Frisk’s not just crazy, and nobody is truly crazy here.

They can’t.

...That’s the only thing they want to tell you, in the end. The only reason they’d try to talk to you at all, like they did to Frisk. Just to get the point across that they _can’t help you_.

And even that won’t work.

You won’t accept that.

They realize if they try even a little bit to throw you off, you’ll be able to break them, somehow.

You’d find a way to gather the pieces from them.

...

They can’t have that.

They can’t _risk_ that.

You’re better off not knowing anything.

You’re better off as you are now, living amongst your family again. You’re better off building your relationships again, _living a life_ here again, without them and the knowledge they bear.

“...Fine.”

You run your fingers through your hair, breathing shaky and heavy.

“Fine,” you declare, still filled with Determination, despite everything. “I don’t need your help. I can do it by myself.”

And at that, they really do almost chuckle.

You never give up. And how can you?

How could they have hoped otherwise?

You’ll see this through to the end. They know that, regardless of what they do.

...

But. As for them...

They won’t be a part of it.

Not now.

...

...Not ever again.


	42. As They Shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're going to try to solve things! Again!!
> 
> More or less!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyo, the next
> 
> and it's probably not obvious buuuut; this chapter was delayed a bit because i received a bite from my new cat and it's infected, and she's been a stray beforehand so we have no idea what she might've had or still have, if anything--also my declining mental health really pushed this back but i'm mostly doing better now in all regards 👌
> 
> on a lighter note, this chap's also shorter than it was originally going to be, sorry--i was going to try to make it longer but i'm super tired hah, in the meantime though! pov switching again i guess. and it appears everyone's still having a not-so-great time :')

As a matter of fact, you _will_ do everything by yourself.

If they end up wanting to help you later, that’s fine; if _anyone_ wants to help you, that’s fine.

But you’re not going to sit around any longer.

(How many times have you told yourself that, now?)

...Starting with telling that voice to shut up. Again.

You rise to your feet, running your fingers through your hair one last time and heaving out a breath. You _could_ have Alphys help you once more, but... Should you visit her so soon again, though? You don’t want to have to bother her. She’s probably got a lot on her plate...

Undyne—uh.

...Not Undyne, maybe.

~~You don’t want to open _that_ wound back up. If she wants to help you at all, she’ll show it.~~

Papyrus, perhaps? Or Toriel?

...

No. No, you shouldn’t be actively seeking people out to assist you like this.

~~But what about S—~~

Need you remind yourself that _isn’t_ an option? In the slightest??

You _can’t_ bring him into this. You just can’t.

~~Why not?~~

Because.

...Because why?

...

You don’t know.

You just know you _can’t involve him_.

_Never **him**._

* * *

Something much too bright leaks through and into Sans’s eyesockets, forcing him to float up to consciousness. At first he has absolutely no memory of where he is and what he was doing prior, so he spends several minutes just squinting out the window at that weird yellow blob in the sky that happens to be the culprit of his awakening, wondering how it got there.

...Wait. “Sky.”

Oh.

Yeah, okay, that makes sense.

The skeleton halfheartedly snorts at himself, _almost_ relieved, for some reason; but then he starts fully recalling everything else, and.

_Oh._

What time is it, exactly?

What _day_ is it?

It’s... A Saturday, right? Probably?

...

Or—

Before that thought can form the rest of itself, Sans smacks himself upside the head. Geez, at least his mind seems to be functioning at full capacity again. ...If that’s even a good thing or not.

Sighing, he rolls over to snatch up his phone and scrolls through his messages, seeing if he’s gotten any new ones. He spots the time in the process, and has all but a total of three seconds to mildly freak out; before realizing _again_ where he is, now.

Ugh. How is it that it seems he got plenty of rest, and yet, his logical thinking keeps wandering...?

Whatever. He supposes it doesn’t matter what he’s forgetting, at this point. _~~Ha.~~_

Either way, he manages to get out of bed without feeling completely like crap so it must be somewhat of a win. He merely puts on a new shirt clothing-wise (not like he really has anywhere important to be, after all) and moves to leave—only to pause with his phalanges on the doorknob.

He left his phone on the bedside table.

...

Of course.

Begrudgingly, he retreats to fetch it, and _then_ walks out of his bedroom, shuffling along the hallway and downstairs like the living dead. _~~Ha!~~_

Ohoho, he can just _tell_ today’s going to be _great_.

When he finally makes it into the kitchen, Sans almost considers skipping breakfast as a whole—but there’s a note notably taped to the front door, specifically trying to order him otherwise:

_BROTHER, IF YOU ARE READING THIS THEN IT PROBABLY MEANS YOU’RE AWAKE AND I AM NO LONGER HERE. IF THAT’S THE CASE THEN DO NOT, I REPEAT, DON’T YOU EVEN DARE THINK ABOUT NOT EATING ANYTHING WHEN YOU GET UP. BREAKFAST IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY, FIRST OF ALL (EVEN IF YOUR IDEA OF BREAKFAST IS MORE OF A BRUNCH)!! _

_SECOND OF ALL!!! YOU KNOW WHAT DOCTOR ALPHYS SAID—EVEN IF YOUR HP IS RESTORED IT’S STILL IMPORTANT TO ADDITIONALLY KEEP IT AS STABLE AS YOU CAN WITH FOOD! THAT’S QUITE LITERALLY THE BEST MEDICINE. OTHERWISE WHEN I GET HOME I WILL STRAP YOU TO A CHAIR LIKE A BABYBONES AND FORCE-FEED YOU MYSELF AND I HIGHLY DOUBT EITHER OF US WANT THAT._

_ANYHOW!! THERE’S SOME BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI IN THE FRIDGE THAT YOU CAN HEAT UP; IF I DON’T RETURN RIGHT AWAY AND YOU GET HUNGRY AGAIN THERE’S ALSO DINNER SPAGHETTI (AND A SELECTION OF OTHER LESSER FOODS, IF YOU PREFER)._

_I THINK I COVERED EVERYTHING! OH, AND IF YOU NEED ANYTHING JUST CALL ME, I WILL THEORETICALLY BE AVAILABLE DEPENDING ON WHAT THE CHIEF ASSIGNS ME. I REALIZE THIS MESSAGE HAS GONE ON LONG ENOUGH SO! I WILL TAKE MY LEAVE!!_

_TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF, SANS! I LOVE YOU!_

_~ SIGNED THE GREAT PAPYRUS!_

_(ALSO! IN ADDITION!! IF YOU IGNORE THIS NOTE IN ITS ENTIRETY!!! You will not like what happens next.)_

...Okay, well.

Guess he’s eating, then.

He trudges back into the kitchen, only to plop himself down in one of the seats at the table. He lets out a small whoosh of air before moving his head and elbow onto the surface of said table, the side of his skull falling into the crook of his arm entirely.

Then slowly, almost methodically in nature, he pulls out his phone once more, scrolling through his contacts briefly until he finds who he’s looking for.

He stares for a moment at the name on the screen, and his apathetic grin tilts into something much softer.

Then, as always, he begins typing.

* * *

Yet another bout of researching has gotten Alphys glued to her chair practically all morning. She’s actively aware that she’s being a hypocrite in not taking her own advice—and stars know Undyne is going to kill her for it later—but she has started to... Somewhat realize where Sans is coming from, so to speak? Not just in that she cares about you too much to let this go, but also because _none_ of anything that’s been happening makes _sense_ , and she’s determined to find out why that is. Once and for all.

That’s an easier said-than-done task, obviously—she knows that.

However.

There’s one other reason she can’t just stop her searching at this very moment.

And it’s because she’s found something.

With that in mind, she stops what she’s doing in favor of picking up her phone, wasting no time in dialing your number.

* * *

You... Really haven’t found anything, technically speaking.

You’ve been at this for a good half an hour or so, tossing out random memorabilia in your haste and rearranging pretty much everything that was once organized. You’re not sure why you hadn’t thought of it before. You want to make the excuse your mind was (almost literally) occupied with something else at the time—that you couldn’t have _handled_ it before, even if you tried. But the guilt-tripping part of you manages to find a way to bypass that, causing you to want to persevere even more so.

Toriel had been surprised when you brought up to her, shortly after your not-run-in with Chara. She even offered to help you go through the boxes but you’d refused, still reluctant with bringing her into any of your personal dilemmas.

The weird part to you ultimately, however, is the fact you haven’t seen Frisk much at all today; and when you did spot them, ironically enough overhearing your request, their opinion on you rifling through old photo albums appeared nonexistent. After all the effort they put in to try to help you, you would have thought _they_ , of all people, would want to go through it with you, and try to jog your memory.

But you sit here alone, in what you’ve pretty much deemed the “Piano Room.”

And you’re not much closer to remembering anything, much less solving this mystery at all.

Admittedly you _had_ skimmed over some of the pictures, only briefly sparing a glance, but even the pictures you _do_ thoroughly study supply nothing more than a faint ache deep in your soul; there, but just barely. And all that seems to be here is mostly pictures; not any trinkets of any kind; not even something you might have received from your wedding, if you had received anything at all. There’d been some music sheets, at one point. But the same result as with the pictures occurred:

Nothing.

You don’t recall a thing.

...

What bothers you most, however,

is that nothing here is from _you_ , and _only_ you. And you don’t think it’s a lack of your previous friends not caring about you or your family.

There’s just... Nothing here _._ No family records, or even a picture of people you don’t recognize, or _anything_.

_There’s nothing._

**_Ding!_ **

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear your phone chirp at you, signaling you’ve received a message. Only a bit shakily, you turn it on to see what it is.

**_Sans:_ ** _ga_

...?

What’s _that_ supposed to stand for?

Still, despite everything, you choke out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head a little for good measure. Just as you hover your fingers over the keypad to respond, your phone chimes again, though more consistently and loudly.

Someone’s calling you.

Not sure what to expect, you answer.

“Hello?”

_“(Y/N)!”_ You jump at the odd volume in her voice. _“Y-you s-should come here right away, th-there’s—Ifoundsomethingreallyweird!”_

“Okay, um—wh—” you start stammering, grasping at some form of understanding still. “Calm down, what is it? What’s...?”

_“I-I can’t—I can’t really explain it, you just—y-you have to come over here, as soon as possible, please??”_

“...Um... S-sure. Okay?” You grip the hem of your shirt nervously.

_“Seeyoubye—”_

And she hangs up.

And you sit there for a moment, processing like an old computer—but you force your brain on overdrive and bolt out of the room.

* * *

“hey al, you got a min—”

When he finally finds her, she’s scribbling something furiously into a notepad in her hands, sweating profusely.

“...ute?” he utters after a pause, and she swivels towards him, several shades of excited, good and bad.

“Sans!” she barks. “You have to look at this!”

“uh. ok?”

“Seriously, g— _get over here_!”

Uneased, Sans manages to shuffle towards her anyway, peering over her shoulder at the website on the monitor, trying to see what she’s getting at.

He assesses the situation, thinks on it, and says, “okay, so. what am i supposed to be looking at?”

“Just— _look_!” She emphasizes by jabbing a clawed finger at a specific section of the website; he leans closer, narrows his eyesockets, tries to pinpoint, and...

“...wait.”

He straightens.

_“what the hell?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀


	43. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You...
> 
> Found something...?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's ya girl back again, yay; couldn't just leave you guys hanging on that cliff amirite,
> 
> as always um, 
> 
> thanks for reading! and leaving your thoughts!! i'll be sure to read them--
> 
> *slides into bunker*
> 
> when you stop trying to kill me for this 
> 
> ; ;

You’re running.

Everything that passes you is a blur: the trees, the houses, the few people that you spot for just a split second in time... You’re not even sure how you ended up outside.

You just run, as fast as your legs will allow.

You feel as though the air has left your lungs long before now—your heart is at your throat right now, you _hurt_ , you feel _exhausted_ , but...

...

This might be it.

I mean, this _has_ to be it, right?

After so many questions, for stars know how long at this point—after all that second-guessing of yourself and the people around you, _this has to be it_.

You’ll finally get your answers.

You _have_ to.

So, purely by memory, you pick out the address of the house and locate it a few blocks away, not stopping until you’re only a few meters from the front door; then, with one heavy inhale of breath, you twist the knob and head into the house, and all that awaits you.

* * *

Alphys stares at the screen, face vacant of expression, other than a firm, thin frown and furrowed eyebrows. Even her eyes are blank, staring through the device like staring into one’s soul—trying to decipher _something_ , though she isn’t entirely sure _what_ yet.

It... Doesn’t make any sense.

And if there’s anyone who _could_ make sense of it, it’d be her, so...

Hands wringing, clammy fingers meeting each other, she turns to look at her companion again.

Sans looks... Odd? She doesn’t know how else to describe it, really—it’s an expression she’s never seen from him, that’s for sure.

His eye-lights haven’t disappeared, but they’ve dimmed; probably out of confusion, if she’d had to guess what he was ultimately feeling. His smile is just barely a smile, bordering on flipping into a frown, and his eyesockets themselves are _wide_ , wider than she can remember seeing.

“wait,” he says once more, voice tight with complete befuddlement, “is that a...?”

“H-hold on, I—let me explain—”

She rambles out a few more stalling words before swiping something else from the desk in front of her, flipping through it a second time unbeknownst to him. He continues staring at the screen until the former scientist lets out a squeaky “Here!” and shoves the object in her hands forward for him to take.

Hesitantly, he does take the folder; and becomes even more confused, looking back briefly at the first page of it. “uhhh,” he utters, scanning the picture at the top. “...why do you have (Y/N)’s records?”

“U-Undyne and me—w-we got Sergeant Everman to help us, he, um...” She wrings her hands, “He was able to? P-pull some strings?”

Sans says nothing in response, just gives a slight nod of his head. He turns back the page Alphys had marked prior, searching for what she wanted him to see.

A pause.

“...it says she was born here,” he finally states.

“Y-yeah...”

“but she... she only moved here after the barrier was destroyed, wh—where’s her birth certificate to prove that?”

“We don’t know. Nobody does.”

He glances back at her,

“it’s not at tori’s? in the—”

“N-no,” Alphys affirms, “I asked her already, a-a few weeks ago.”

“...huh.”

His gaze flits back and forth from the folder to the screen.

“and what does _that_ have to do with this? it’s—it’s weird, but, i don’t see how...”

“Here. I-I’ll show you.”

She beckons him with a claw, inviting him to watch her doings as she goes back on the monitor and reads off her history.

* * *

For a brief moment, when you reach the elevator, you panic, trying to recall what button goes to the basement. ~~What are all these other buttons for, anyways...?~~

But logically, you force yourself to remain calm, and try to recall which one it was.

...

Yes. That one. ~~Right?~~

Slowly—much too slowly it seems—the shaft starts descending.

* * *

“I-I started off trying to find some more information on Determination souls, s-since we know for a fact she does have one, but it only brought up things we either already know o-or things that are just speculation overall—th-theories, that—that don’t prove anything.”

After setting the folder down Sans nods slowly, leaning over her chair idly as she speaks.

“Then... Then there was this,” she indicates towards the screen, pointing at one of the results of a search she’d done. “Weird, u-um—weird records, of? Of souls throughout the years? W-well, not—not exactly that but—reports. Th-there were reports of humans saying their souls had been tampered with, for one reason or another, b-but they were all written off as crazy, o-or addicts or something.”

* * *

When it reaches the bottom, and the doors slide open, you practically jump out.

Again, you remind yourself to remain calm, and control your breathing—if just a little. Then you press onward, checking in each room as you powerwalk by.

She’s not in any of the rooms you’ve been in before(?).

Still, you continue to search, persistent in your ways.

* * *

“okay,” the skeleton prompts, rather casually to his credit, despite the tension in his bones.

Alphys continues with baited, shaky breath, insistent on persisting through this:

“A-and I? B-b-because of that, I found th—this really weird rabbit hole, I-I-I’m not sure how I e-ended up _here_ but—”

She gets cut off, because it is then you find the room you’re looking for.

* * *

You stand in the doorway of what looks to be an abandoned storage room, the only “updated” technology being a large ( _very_ large, might you add) desktop computer. And at first, whether because of your sleep-deprived brain or racing heart, it takes you several seconds to take in the fact that Alphys is not the only one there.

It seems he’s just as surprised, for as soon as he realizes it’s _you_ , his already-small eye-lights nearly transform into pinpricks.

“...oh. heey?”

He straightens. Somewhat.

“didn’t, uhhh. expect to see you here.”

Likewise.

And you must have been staring at him long enough to prove as much, because sweat starts to bead above his bone-brows.

“...uh—”

“Hey,” you say.

Flatly.

...At least you responded, you try to comfort yourself.

Just as awkwardly as everything else you probably just did, you make your way over to Alphys’s other side, pointedly ignoring Sans’s attention. “S... So, what’s happening?” you squeak out.

Alphys spares you a quick glance, sweating profusely herself, before taking a folder off the desk and handing it to you. “H-here, um, these... These are your records—what proves you’re a citizen in Ebott, I mean. W-we didn’t show you it sooner, s-sorry...”

You feel a question rise to your tongue, but you don’t ask it. Instead you open the files, peering at them silently.

It doesn’t tell you anything you haven’t already been told, but... The picture of you looks... Oddly familiar. Maybe just because you know that’s you?

But, when you’re finished, you do ask one question that comes to mind:

“Where’s my birth certificate?”

If it’s not here, or in those boxes back at Toriel’s, then...?

Looking as though she’s been asked this before, Alphys sighs, rubbing her temple. “None of us know,” she answers honestly. “B-but...”

She takes the folder from you, setting it down on the desk once more.

“Th-that’s not what I really wanted you to see.”

You blink, your mouth parting to say something else, but she turns back to the computer.

And she shows you.

You read over her history, and all the data and information she’s found. You listen to every word she says, not butting in with your own words anymore.

You just... Stand there. And watch. And listen.

Then, she brings up the last thing she’s found—the culmination of all of this research.

There’s a picture of a soul on the screen. A drawing, to be exact.

It’s not the same color as yours, but parts of it are missing. It seems dimmer than it should, less vibrant than is healthy.

The description reads as follows:

_As shown above, this is a drawn example of a “Lost Soul.” It’s a rare phenomenon in which a soul is able to exist with pieces of it—even significant ones—missing. It’s unclear still how this happens, and how it or its host remains alive, but some have speculated it takes a great, unfathomable amount of power to modify a soul like this without fatally damaging it—and just summoning a human soul without much magic is an incredible feat in of itself._

_Researchers have come to the conclusion that Lost Souls are either a myth or something that only existed long ago—around the time monsters still roamed above the earth—since magic was obviously more common then. It’s still unclear if these beings simply died out eventually over time or were somehow killed during the battle, along with most of the monster population (or because of it)._

_Many conspiracies have popped up pertaining to this, a few of which suggest monsters themselves were the cause of Lost Souls, which is likely. But this has never been proven. Mages might also have been a factor, though that is less probable, seeing as it takes at the least seven of them to even manage something as groundbreaking as that._

_Another theory suggests—_

You back away from the computer.

You feel your teeth clench, and your hands ball into fists.

Distantly, you hear Alphys’s worried voice.

“(Y-Y/N)...? D-do you... Recognize any of this, or...?”

“This isn’t anything we don’t already know,” you cut in, your voice cracking on the last syllable. The room falls silent around you, and as you speak once more, you feel as though you’re merely talking to the walls. “I-I mean—i-it’s not, I—I already knew parts of my soul were missing—”

“but we didn’t know it’s supposedly been done before.”

You flash your stare at Sans, not noticing the way he shrinks back from you. “Wait—how did you—”

He shifts his gaze downwards, something unreadable on his face. “Frisk told me.”

That should make sense to you.

By all accounts, Frisk would probably know him better than you. And your soul’s state wasn’t exactly a secret, but...

It doesn’t stop you from narrowing your eyes at him.

It doesn’t stop the sudden anger, or fear that takes hold of you when you realize they involved him. That he probably _wanted_ to be involved, really, because why _wouldn’t_ he?

(He’s _always_ ruining everything; always sticking his lack-of-a-nose too far into your business, and your business _alone_.)

~~Why can’t he just know what’s best for himself? For everyone?~~

“ _Stop it_.”

It takes you a second for even yourself to realize you’re speaking to him.

And it takes even longer for him.

“...what?”

“Stop it,” you grit out, through gritted teeth and a gritty scowl. “You—you’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to _know_ any of this.”

“why not?” he questions, merely looking confused, now, and that somehow makes your unreasonable anger rise.

“You weren’t supposed to be involved, Sans. Neither of you. I appreciate the help, but—y-you need to go.”

The two monsters stare at you, before sharing a nervous, befuddled glance. “B-but this is _my_ lab, I can’t—” Alphys starts.

“No.” You let out a shaky sigh. “That’s not—... I mean you should stop too. Stop looking into this.” _~~If you know what’s good for you.~~_

“...you’re kidding, right?”

You snap your eyes back to Sans once more, quickly enough to make him stutter on his words. “y-you’ve gotta be kidding me. you... seriously can’t expect that, can you? for us to just... stop helping you?”

You don’t reply. He chuckles humorlessly.

“no. not happening.”

You tighten your fists, looking at him through sudden, blurred vision. Blinding panic takes ahold of your senses, though you manage to keep that hidden within you.

You have only one response.

The only response you can possibly give.

“Then get out of my life,” you tell him.

...

And time seems to freeze.

Alphys has stopped fidgeting for the most part. She looks at you with a blank yet wide gaze, and the only action that deceives the seemingly-frozen time is the shaking of her hands in her lap.

You’re not moving, either. You stand still, breathing heavily, your heart at your throat all over again as you desperately try to get your act together.

You know it won’t work, of course.

There’s too much panic in you, when you look at him.

...But like before, you mask it with anger instead, and go on to snap cruelly, “If you really care about me, then _get. Out_. That’s what I _want_. I’m not asking.”

Slowly, you watch his face morph into a mask. His grin becomes nothing more than a grin, and his eye-lights go back to their normal size.

Then he laughs, again.

It’s an unsettling sound—perhaps the most unsettling you’ve heard in a while. It clearly doesn’t mean anything. It’s empty. As empty as his sockets, when his eye-lights suddenly and rapidly start dimming.

“alright,” is the only thing he utters, his voice wavering more than he likely wanted it to; more than you can apparently handle, for you tear your attention to the ground just in front of him, seeing his slippered feet disappear without so much as a trace.

You scrub roughly at your eyes before turning to Alphys. “...Thanks.”

You don’t wait for an answer.

Instead, you turn and walk out of the room, ignoring a ghostly glimpse of yellow-and-green as you pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in! the meantime!! i have another side fic that i made for this??? for those of you who want to read it that haven't yet?????
> 
> it still doesn't explain anything but it's fluffy so,
> 
> [here :'3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565243)
> 
> now imma hurry back to the bunker--


	44. i will lay down my heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans comes to a long-awaited conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE, AHAHA *is also mentally breaking*
> 
> writing last chapter made me sad ngl, but it also made me eager to get this one done early too (plus before i get too busy this week) and i feel like our poor skeleboi needed his own chapter so um, the result is of course:
> 
> angst?
> 
> angst =)
> 
>   
> you're all _so_ welcome, such a great gift for Thanksgiving week amirite--  
> (oh and title is from this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FteIC0nG76k)

You have only one response.

The only response you can possibly give.

“Then get out of my life,” you tell him.

...

And time seems to freeze.

The world itself comes to a halt, yet tilt on its side at the same time, disorienting and alarming.

But he remains standing, somehow.

Sans remains staring back at you, as you don’t move either—as no one moves.

He doesn’t see anything else in that moment, but you.

He doesn’t see anything else but the fire in your gaze; the anger, directed towards him. There’s something else bubbling within your soul, but he can’t feel it now. Not clearly.

Like a siren distantly blaring through the night, you go on, voice cold:

“If you really care about me, then _get. Out_. That’s what I _want_. I’m not asking.”

His own soul stutters, and staggers. The world spins.

Your words repeat in his skull over and over, rendering him immobile. Rendering him useless, as slowly, it dawns on him.

It dawns as does the light of day, bright and clear to him; the only clear thing he can truly see.

You were never his.

...

You had _never_ wanted to be his, did you? It made sense now. It’s been confirmed—he’d suspected it, when you first disappeared, but—

Of course.

_Of course._

He’d been right all along.

You'd only agreed to be his to _help_ him, like you always had; to try to make him happy, even though you'd known it was futile.

Then, you left of your own accord.

You left, because you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life with him. You left because you didn’t want to say so right to his face, and complicate things, because you still cared, despite everything.

You had _planned_ it, to take him to Grillby’s and then _disappear_ , find a different life elsewhere, away from the pain you felt, _away from him_.

Your promise was a lie.

Even now, when you don’t remember much of anything—you still remember how much you _don’t love him_. It’s still strong enough for you to _know_ , to want to push him out of your life.

...

...And how can he blame you?

How can he possibly blame you, after everything that’s happened? After everything he’s told you, everything he's _done_ to you, because he just can't _handle_ being alone _for one stars' damned second_?

How can he blame you, when he hadn't known what to do when _you_ were hurting?

...

He doesn’t know why he’d expected anything different. even for just a moment.

He doesn’t know why he had even _begun_ to think he still deserved you, in some way.

He didn’t have a chance in Hell.

...

So he puts his mask on, and laughs about it.

He pretends, as he always has. The _only_ thing he’s good at, maybe. He pretends it’s fine, even as the void in his eyesockets grows, and his soul staggers, and feels like it’s tearing itself apart.

“alright.”

And he pretends his voice didn’t fall apart on him then, either.

He pretends he’s not being ripped apart, and shortcuts back home.

Then, and only then, does he let himself collapse.

* * *

“SANS! I’M H—”

The door shuts with a soft click behind him, the only sound present as Papyrus cuts himself off quickly.

His eyesockets fall to gaze upon an unmoving lump on the Livingroom floor; otherwise known as his passed out brother, apparently.

At first, there’s, of course, worry. Followed shortly by a bit of irritation, because that means said passed out brother is likely only so because he didn’t rest enough or eat as much as he should have.

Hadn’t he read the note at _all_? Or had he just woken up and come downstairs, still half-asleep on his feet, before collapsing just because he was too tired to hold himself upright?

Either way, Papyrus needs to have a talk with him about this dilemma.

He assuredly marches himself on over, looking much like he is still on duty (especially so since he still dons his uniform). He crouches down in front of Sans’s limp form and shakes him awake, gently.

No response.

He huffs, masking his rising concern, and shakes him more vigorously—and, to his relief, Sans stirs.

The smaller skeleton blinks to consciousness like waking from the dead, staring at his brother dazedly.

Papyrus adjusts his position, now sitting directly on the floor, peering at him closely.

“...Have you eaten?” he asks after some contemplation.

Sans doesn’t respond at first, like the first time; and again, Papyrus studies his haggard appearance.

His smile isn’t a smile anymore. It seems to twitch upwards from time to time, like it wants to be, but it’s obvious Sans has gone pretending too long. The lights in his sockets have faded almost to oblivion, but somehow, just barely, he finds it in him to keep them reignited.

Still, they don’t focus on Papyrus, even now. They stare at nothing, blankly, his bony eyelids pulled up to make his eyesockets seem bigger. Wider.

It’s... Unsettling.

Like he’s not really here.

But Papyrus has been through this before. He’s seen this from him before, and so, gently, he grasps his brother’s hand.

“It’s alright, Brother. Things are alright, see? I’m right here. You have to come back, okay? ...Please?”

The words themselves don’t mean much, but he’s found that Sans likes hearing the sound of his voice. It coaxes him out of these episodes, drawing him back to reality. It comforts him somehow.

And sure enough, his eye-lights remain dim, but finally seem to zero-in on Papyrus’s face, no longer just blank, emotionless orbs of gray.

Papyrus gives his brother’s hand a soft squeeze, smiling reassuringly.

“There you are,” he murmurs. “...Can you remember my question?”

Sans nods, in a less-than-stable way, his body seeming to nod with him. “y-... yeah,” he rasps out. “...i ate, i mean. earlier.”

“Did you get any sleep?” Papyrus presses, as Sans scratches at the dried tearstains on his cheekbones.

“yeah... yeah, i think so,” he mumbles.

Papyrus pauses.

He’s not lying. He can tell. But...

Something isn’t right.

If he had gotten sleep, and had eaten, as he said he had, then why...?

Well.

Whether he chooses to tell him what is going on or not, Papyrus thinks it doesn’t really matter at this exact moment.

Instead, he asks him softly, “Can you eat something now, too?”

Sans nods, though a bit hesitantly—but without pause, Papyrus scoops his brother into his arms and heads for the kitchen.

* * *

Papyrus noticeably fidgets, even after setting the re-heated plate of fries on the table. Sans scrubs again at the silently-made tears on his face, before turning his tired gaze to the other skeleton.

“what?” is all he says, not trusting his voice to say much else.

“I really should change out of my uniform, but...” Papyrus sighs. “...Will you... Be okay alone here for a few minutes? I-I don’t want—”

But Sans turns back to stare at the food, managing a small yet sure nod. It seems to be genuine enough, for Papyrus relaxes, if just a little.

“Alright. I’ll... I’ll be right back, okay? Make sure you eat at least some of those.”

Sans nods for what seems like the hundredth time, as his younger brother heads upstairs.

He’s not blind to the fact his HP is rapidly dropping right now.

He knows he _needs_ to eat. Otherwise he’ll fall down, or worse.

...

but, part of him whispers at the back of his mind, what’s the point?

What’s the point of going on if you don’t want him around?

He knows there has to be one. He knows he shouldn’t be basing his whole life around you, much less an entire half of his _existence_ on you; it’s unhealthy, he _knows_ that. He never should have let it happen in the first place—he should have moved on from you, like he was going to try to, back when he was convinced you hated him when you showed up again.

...But...

Sans never _is_ that good at moving on from things.

...

...

He really should eat, though.

If not for his sake, then for his brother’s, at least.

He could never leave Papyrus alone.

Sans wipes away the brimming tears at his eyes and lurches forward to grab a fry, trying to cough up what little motivation he has left.

...Then he stares at said fry, for a good minute, without moving.

The tears start brimming again.

He can’t get them to stop.

They pour down his face, burning like acid. Like molten lava.

It hurts.

It hurts to think. To move. _To exist._

He wants to break apart. He wants to move _away_ from here, to _not_ exist anymore, to float up to the stars in a cloud of snowy dust.

He just wants you to love him again.

...But he’s being selfish.

The same kind of selfish that must have pushed you away.

...

Even still,

he buries his head in his arms, and lets it all out.

He finally sobs for all he’s worth, because he misses you, and will never stop missing you. He sobs because he realizes he can't keep you.

He sobs because he knows it’s selfish to keep you. And he can’t do that to you, ever.

After all this time, he breaks.

He doesn’t stop breaking, even when Papyrus finds him again, his body collapsed against the table and quaking.

He _can't_ stop breaking, because he loves you.

He loves you so, _so_ very much. Too much.

Too much to want you to love him back, in the end.


	45. My Tears Ricochet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where you deflect things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (i had the song stuck in my head the whole time i was writing this pfft, kinda sets the mood c':)
> 
> just as a heads-up beforehand, i don't really have anything planned for Christmas with this story? because said story takes place in the summer if i didn't make that clear lmbo. though depending on what i fit in in the next chapter, important things will still happen, so? maybe that could work as ya'll's Christmas present idk
> 
> thank you so much for all the comments and support on this story, i feel like i haven't been saying that enough lately haha!  
> but seriously, you guys are what keep me inspired and in a way, you keep this story going. thank you so so much, all of you are amazing and i love you <3
> 
> so anyway, have this trainwreck! i swear all this angst will leave us soon hah,
> 
> (oh also, tw for a bit of language--)

“(Y/N)? Wh—”

You don’t give poor Toriel much time to process as you blunder past her to the stairs, set on locking yourself in the guest room for the rest of the evening. And you do just that, running in and slamming the door behind you, only pausing to flip the lock. You practically stagger on your feet—you can’t even make it to the bed before you slide to the floor, pulling your knees up against your chest as you heave out a couple of breaths.

The strength that used to possess you has flown out the window now, leaving you empty. Powerless.

You’re alone now.

...But it doesn’t make you feel any better. It can’t.

It only makes you feel worse.

And so, you sit in the dark, rolling with thousands of thoughts in your head about what just happened.

You don't even remember half of what you said to him—which is ironic, part of you bites, just to make a so-called joke out of this mess; but there’s no joke to call here. You know that.

You fully _know_ what you did.

You know you probably broke Sans’s heart all over again.

Your chest tightens at the thought.

Ice grips your bones, freezing, yet spreading like wildfire throughout you.

Somewhere in the depths of your soul, it hurts.

...Gods, it _hurts_.

...

Through the darkness, you feel a hand rest on your shoulder.

You don’t need to look to see who it is.

He speaks, further solidifying his presence.

_W h y a r e y o u t r o u b l e d , c h i l d ?_

“I’m not.”

_R e a l l y n o w ?_ he muses.

You don’t say anything at first. He proceeds, stating matter-of-factly, _I b e l i e v e y o u a r e l y i n g ._

“So?” you bite back.

_S o I w o u l d l i k e t o k n o w w h a t i s t r o u b l i n g y o u e n o u g h t o d o s o._

“It’s none of your business,” you mutter at last, with only a quarter of the bitterness you’d been intending.

His hand leaves you, and his voice comes back, a bit more irritably:

_I s n ‘ t i t ?_

“No.”

_. . . H m m ._

You find yourself focusing on the tone of his voice. It’s still static-like, yet calm as can be; but there’s an underlying coldness.

You hear him hum waveringly, though you remain merely gripping your hands around your legs tighter, glaring at his dripping coat in front of you. He continues, even so.

_S e e . I d i s a g r e e , m y d e a r ._

Gaster pauses.

_D o y o u k n o w w h y ?_

He takes a step closer, practically hovering over you.

**_B e c a u s e y o u a r e t r e a t i n g m y s o n l i k e a p i e c e o f d o g s h i t ._ **

****

You bark out a laugh.

“Since when do _you_ care?” you ask. “You didn’t say anything earlier—you _let_ me treat him like dogshit, didn’t you?”

_I l e t y o u h a n d l e i t b e c a u s e I T R U S T y o u ,_ he snaps. _I e x p e c t e d y o u t o t r e a t y o u r **h u s b a n d** l i k e a **l i v i n g b e i n g** ._

“Hey, up until a few weeks ago I hadn’t even really _accepted_ he used to be my husband, so...” You shrug, making his goopy eyes narrow at you.

You’re just egging him on further—just pouring salt on the wound, a wound that never should have been there.

...

But it’s all you can do to distract from the pain and guilt.

You can’t let it eat at you.

You can’t.

Otherwise, you risk—

...

No.

No, you don’t even want to think about it.

You shake your head, sighing.

“Look, whatever I... Whatever I felt for Sans before is... It’s gone. Okay?”

_O h , s o a l l t h e t i m e y o u s p e n t w i t h h i m s i n c e c o m i n g b a c k m e a n t n o t h i n g t o y o u , t h e n ?_ Gaster inquires, raising a brow. _I t w a s a l l j u s t a p l o y , w a s i t ?_

You feel like you can’t breathe.

_No,_ you want to say, badly. _It **did** mean **something**._

But—

The ghostly monster towers over you silently, before his eerily steady voice comes back to you, _almost_ casual—but accusatory at the same time. _J u s t **t e l l** m e , (Y / N ) . **W h y a r e y o u l y i n g ?**_

Your heart pounds inside your chest, each thump seeming to drive your brain further to madness. Something is screaming at you to admit the truth.

It’s screaming at you to call him.

To apologize.

_You’re_ screaming at yourself to apologize.

...

But...

“It’s better this way, it _is_ —” You choke, trying to suck in air as you take shallow breaths. And still, you manage not to cry. Not outwardly.

_Why?_ is the silent question that follows. You don’t hear it from him this time. It’s just something that’s _there_ in the silence, as though the universe itself is hopelessly trying to understand why you’re doing this.

“...I-I don’t know why.”

That’s a lie, more screaming tells you. A _different_ kind, screaming something else, reassuring you that this is the right thing. You can’t back down. ~~Not when you’re so close to—~~

You can’t.

You can’t you can’t you _can’t_ —

~~You have to pr—~~

“It doesn’t _matter_ why,” you say at last, to distract from that thought. The tears finally run down your face but you don’t care. You wipe them away, roughly, ignoring the pain in your soul—the desperate longing to make things right.

You know you will never make things right, even if you try.

This is your only option.

So,

you scrub at your cheeks one final time, willing your eyes to stop their complaining. Your eyes bore hatefully into your own thighs, and your Determination rises to reflect in your eyes, turning them a bold crimson.

Your feelings don’t matter.

Nobody’s feelings here matter.

You don’t care if Sans is hurting. ~~That’s a lie.~~

You don’t care that _you’re_ the one hurting him. _~~That’s a lie.~~_

You just...

...

You can’t let it happen.

And for that reason, you won’t care.

_You can’t afford to care._

“I don’t care,” you spit out, the poison of your words rotting deep into your tongue, tinging you deep inside. “I don’t _care_ how I treat your _precious_ son—I don’t care if he hates me, I just want him to leave me alone for once. Now that we got _that_ cleared up, would YOU _leave me the Hell alone_?”

You look up to challenge him, but...

Gaster’s not there anymore.

He’s gone.

...

You remain sitting on the floor, frozen for a moment, not quite believing your luck.

Then you let out a laugh: a biting, hollow sound.

Distantly, you make a wish. A wish that the stars themselves will carry you far away from here, so you don’t have to deal with this anymore.

You’d be free.

...But that’s being selfish. _You’re_ being selfish.

You don’t want to be selfish anymore.

Therefore, you force yourself to your feet, and to your bed, sluggishly settling in for the night. Your bed feels colder than usual. Emptier. It chills you to your bones.

Your soul feels achingly empty, longing for the pieces of itself that have been forgotten. It sings a mournful song for what it has forgotten, all throughout the night, even as you sleep.

In your dreams, you can hear the song; it’s sweeter this time, and comforting. It carries over the mountains, and fields, and drifts into your bedroom. It haunts you, just barely out of reach but _there_ , taunting. Sometimes you almost grasp it.

Sometimes, the space in your bed is no longer a space.

Sometimes, it’s not empty anymore.

But.

You can’t afford to care.


	46. Still Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get a visit from The Great Papyrus!
> 
> And he has some very good questions for you!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry this is so late oof, it's been two loooong weeks)
> 
> i'm writing a lot of Papyrus lately pfft,
> 
> not that i'm complaining c:
> 
> oh also:  
> at this point in time, Reader isn't being as influenced by something as she has been; in other words everything that happened last chapter and how she is responding to things is pretty much all her, no outside forces included.
> 
> just to make that clear :)

It’s late. Probably midnight, if Papyrus has to guess. He’s spent so long gazing upwards that he’s practically memorized every groove of the ceiling, almost able to recognize every little divot his eyesockets graze over.

The last thing he should be doing at this hour is overthinking, probably, but...

Even so, he can’t really find it in himself to settle. How can he, knowing what he knows? After experiencing everything that just happened?

See... That’s just it.

He _can’t_.

His only consolation right now is the fact Sans is next to him, finally managing to get rest.

...Well, _some_ , because the amount of rest he’s actually getting remains to be seen. There’s no denying he must be _exhausted_ , but knowing everything his brother has been through, Papyrus is rather certain that even proper peace eludes him during sleep. His soul is in too much turmoil, almost constantly, to the point where it’s rare for Sans to _not_ feel tired.

But, at least he’s here, Papyrus thinks. At least he’s in a state where nothing else can hurt him—not too much anyway. Not right now.

...

That’s what he tells himself, anyway. Because he’s the one unable to sleep, despite this.

He _can’t_.

Not while knowing his brother is in such a bad place right now.

Knowing that even the slightest action, or _word_ , could _break_ him—deteriorate his Hope even more than it already is, until he’s nothing but a pile of dust on the earth. And while that _might_ be a bit dramatic, or exaggerated, why understate it to something more hopeful? Why _ignore_ it?

He doesn’t think Sans will Fall. ~~Not yet.~~

He’s pretty damn close, all the same.

Papyrus had suspected as much, simply sensing Sans’s pain through his soul; but as he held him in his arms, and his brother cried until he physically couldn’t handle _moving_ anymore, Papyrus had it confirmed.

And, so did he confirm the thought of _what_ , for Sans started to tremble even harder the moment Papyrus mentioned you.

...

...

Though.

That wasn’t the only thing that confirmed it.

He just...

Doesn’t want to think about that right now.

~~He doesn’t want to have to address the things his brother had choked out to him, a similar mindset he’d had the week you went missing, rambling almost incoherently and convinced you left him because he did something wrong—he wasn’t _good_ enough. He _couldn’t_ be, he couldn’t help you when you needed it, he’d been such a horrible husband to you and now you were _gone_.~~

...

_Why_ , though, is still yet to be seen, as his brother had been mostly silent after that, either reluctant or simply unable to speak.

So, then.

What did you do, exactly? Had you hurt his feelings, somehow? Did you say something less than desirable towards him, or...?

But, why would you even _think_ of doing something like that? It doesn’t make sense. You’ve been doing so _well_ , you’ve been so _kind_ to his brother—as kind as you can be, given the unstated trauma in you; a similar turmoil, now, to his.

Why would you ruin it? Why would you treat his brother so badly—why would you go back to not seeing him for the wonderful monster he is?

...But why would Sans go back, too? If things had been going so well, why would Sans pretend otherwise?

Why else would Sans be in this state?

...

It’s truly a conundrum. A conundrum that Papyrus is determined to unravel—a puzzle, if you will.

He doubts he’ll get a clue out of Sans; he’d seemed so broken and confused and _hurt_ —never mind him knowing _what happened,_ either.

So, that leaves you.

If you really did say or do something to break his brother, he should probably find out exactly what, and why.

...

Good thing Papyrus has off tomorrow!

* * *

When you wake up the next morning, you still lie down for a few minutes, lost in your own mind.

You feel cold. Empty.

The emptiness has consumed you whole.

...

And yet,

you’ve never wanted anything else.

When you think back on last night, it doesn’t bother you as much—for you know this is for the best.

You’ll go alone, now; you’ll make sure of it.

~~Will you?~~

You call in sick to work, hoping your gravelly, monotone voice will be enough to testify for you.

Thankfully, Grillby accepts this. Though not without asking you if you’ll be okay.

You will be, you tell him.

And that’s the one thing you’re sure about.

You _have_ to be.

_~~It hurts.~~ _

Sighing, you get yourself prepared for the day, going through your routine just like every other day.

A few minutes later, Toriel flashes you a smile as you sit yourself down at the table, just like every other day.

You smile back as best you can, wondering if she can see right through you.

You wonder if Frisk can.

~~You wonder—~~

You should stop wondering.

“(Y/N)?”

You snap yourself out of your thoughts and blink back at Toriel. “Yeah?”

She fiddles with her hands before saying her piece, clearly disturbed by something. Before you can prompt further she asks, “Is everything alright?”

You harden your expression whilst your mind screams curses at you.

“...Uh. Yes. Why?”

“I know it is probably none of my business, but I noticed you were... Distressed, last night. I just wanted to know if you are okay. I also want to apologize for not checking on you sooner,” she adds. “At the time I thought it would be rude of me, but—I see how you might think I might not care because I didn’t do so. I am sorry about that.”

“...It’s fine,” you respond slowly, absently running a hand through your hair. “...I’m sorry, too. I was... Kind of rude to you.”

Toriel smiles again—though, with a tinge of sadness, maybe. “There is no need to worry about it, my child. I am simply glad you are feeling better.”

You force another fake smile back, as she reaches to briefly, but gently rub the small of your back, almost comforting you in a way. You say nothing, and simply continue eating.

Frisk munches on their food in silence just like every other day, barely batting an eye when the ring of the doorbell sounds throughout the house. They nod a bit too early when their mother asks them to answer the door, you notice; and they push themselves up of the chair all-too-readily.

You go back to picking at your ham when another booming sound automatically pulls you away:

“HELLO, TINY HUMAN!!”

That voice... Sounds familiar.

...But who...?

“Oh, hello, Papyrus!” Toriel exclaims, seeming pleasantly surprised as she gets up out of her own chair. “It is very nice to see you again!”

You swivel halfway to watch the skeleton set Frisk on the floor again, going on to greet Toriel with a hug as well.

“Though, I must say,” she says when she pulls away, peering at him curiously, “I am quite surprised to see you here, my friend. Do you not have work today?”

You turn back to your food, their conversation fading into the background as you tune them out.

~~Is he mad at you?~~

So what if he is.

~~Is he here because of what you did?~~

He’s just here to visit those two, probably.

~~What if he talks to you?~~

Then he _does_.

So what?

_Why should you care?_

“HELLO (Y/N)!!”

You drop the fork a little too hard, causing it clash loudly against the glass plate.

“...Hey,” you say stiffly, not turning to meet his gaze at first. Undeterred, he continues:

“I AM SORRY TO SPRING THIS UP ON YOU SO SUDDENLY, BUT I WAS HOPING TO ASK YOU SOME THINGS!!”

“Fine.”

~~Did they hear the waver in your voice too?~~

There’s a moment of silence—rather, you hear Toriel ushering Frisk somewhere, so it’s only you and Papyrus in the room.

You pointedly avoid his gaze, staring daggers into your forgotten meal.

“...I ALSO SHOULD APOLOGIZE FOR PUTTING YOU ON THE SPOT LIKE THIS, I SUPPOSE,” he speaks, clearly sensing the sudden, awkward tension. “BUT, THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT—I HOPE YOU REALIZE THAT.”

You nod silently.

“...MAY I SIT HERE?”

Another nod.

He places himself in the chair across from you, the sliding of wood-on-wood grating on you somewhat.

“ALRIGHT, WELL! FIRST-OFF...”

You wait for it in anticipation, expecting to already know what it is.

Perhaps something like, _What’s wrong with you?_

Or, _Why did you hurt my brother?_

Probably a, _Who do you think you **are**?_

“HOW ARE YOU?”

...

...

_What?_

Your expression must say everything, because he wastes no time in adding on:

“YES! THAT IS WHAT I WISH TO KNOW!! AND EVEN THOUGH YOU HEARD ME THE FIRST TIME, I SHALL ASK AGAIN: HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

He’s still smiling—cheery, like he’s just having a pleasant conversation with an old friend.

Like he has no problem with you.

“I’m fine,” you choke out before you can help it; but that’s when the cheer disappears.

His grin twists into a contemplative frown, regarding you with obvious skepticism.

“ARE YOU SURE?”

“...Yeah?”

Papyrus rests his skull on his hand for a moment, looking down at the table with furrowed brows as though you’ve just thrown a riddle at him.

“Huh,” he hums to himself, drastically quieter in volume.

Unease rises further in your gut, freezing you. “What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. That’s the answer I was expecting from you.”

.

..

“...I’m sorry, but you’re a very bad liar, (Y/N).”

His gaze is blank, yet somehow disappointed when he looks at you. You find yourself unable to direct your eyes elsewhere, glued to his stare.

“If you were fine, you wouldn’t treat Sans the way you did,” he says, finally, but not quite with the anger you’d been imagining.

He’s just... Calm.

Sad, but collected.

“And so, I would like you to tell me what happened.”

You can’t.

You can’t tell him.

“I will not judge you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he assures, still with the kindness you weren’t expecting; the kindness you don’t deserve.

He won’t understand.

You can’t let him understand.

You have to pretend you _hate_ Sans.

You have to...

“I don’t—”

You draw in a shaky breath, trying to force yourself to keep everything back, yet again.

“I-I don’t want him in my life, that’s—I don’t want to see him anymore. Don’t you get that?”

_Feign anger._

_It will help._

You narrow your eyes, even though you can feel yourself falter.

“I-it’s _better_ this way.”

_Ignore it._

_Just **ignore it**._

Papyrus will go away.

Both of them.

You’ll never have to talk to either of them again.

Never _him_ again.

He’ll never know about this.

He can’t.

You can do this alone.

He will be fine without you. He has to be. He’s _going_ to be, because otherwise you’ll—

Otherwise—

...

_And you can’t **risk that.**_

****

**_You promised._ **

Papyrus’s frown deepens.

A deeper, sadder look takes over his features. Your hands shake under the table.

“Is someone trying to hurt you?” he asks suddenly, and you tense.

“No!” you snap; for once, a partial truth. “Th-his is _my_ choice, not—”

“Then why are you lying to me?”

No.

“Why did you lie to my brother?”

No no no.

“You’re... You know you are hurting _him_ , right? You must know that.”

No no no no you're not, you CAN'T be

“I don’t blame you, but—”

_No—_

“I just want to know

_NO—_

what it is you’re so _afraid_ o—”

“ _Nothing!”_

All at once you shove yourself out of your seat, almost knocking it over.

You glare at the skeleton, and his surprised expression, and the innocence he holds.

No, you want to say.

_No, I’m fine._

_No, I’m not lying._

Instead...

“I’m not afraid of _anything_ ,” you growl.

~~You’re so afraid.~~

“Please, just—l-leave me alone, I’m not—I’m not scared, I’m not _lying_.”

_~~You’re terrified.~~ _

_~~You don't want to hurt him this way, and yet...~~ _

And yet, he regards you with skepticism, and disbelief, bearing into your bones.

You know he knows.

You expect him to ask, one more time.

Instead,

“...Alright.”

he stands up, too.

“I won’t ask you about it again; however, I would still like to ask a favor of you.”

You swipe the sweat from your face, about to say no automatically.

But you study his expression, once more. The way he’s seemed to deflate.

...You...

Don’t want to cause any more damage than is necessary.

You know that’s just an excuse, but...

Still.

You nod, slowly, and slightly, he smiles.

“Good! As for what it is—I’m supposed to set up for a hangout this weekend! Miss Toriel and a couple of others will be coming, and I was hoping you could come too, and perhaps help set up!”

...

I mean. It seems simple enough.

You could probably use a break by that point.

But, if it’s at their house...

“My brother doesn’t normally participate in it,” Papyrus explains, as though reading your mind. “He’s usually off somewhere else.”

You nod in acceptance, staring at your feet.

It...

Still feels wrong.

Like you’re still hurting him, despite everything.

...But what Sans doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?

It’s for the best.

“I’ll think about it,” you settle for.

Papyrus smiles, and you try to ignore the sadness still behind it.

And still, you try to ignore your guilt, and pain, watching him bid everyone goodbye and leave without so much as saying you're sorry.

You ignore it, because you can apologize later, when this is over.

...

When you have nothing to lose.


	47. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day you get another visitor.
> 
> It's...
> 
> Someone you never expected to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i do actually have a Christmasy story planned (that actually is in this series, if you know what i mean) courtesy of JMRulz in the comments who gave me the idea so,
> 
> please go thank them, they're great :)
> 
> anyhow i wanted to get this out before then--it pushes back my original plan to get the "special" chapter (and i say that loosely) done by Christmas, but i think it'll work better for me and not make me so anxious to reach that point yet and get it out--pacing-wise it will also probably be better for you guys and hopefully make it more enjoyable if it's not rushed hah,
> 
> in the meantime, once again, have this trainwreck that i finished throwing together at 1:30 in the morning just to make way for the next trainwreck :))

Tomorrow, Papyrus wants you to come over.

Tomorrow, you run the risk of revealing something, even if Sans isn't there.

You're too stressed. Too tired, too _selfish_ right now to be able to keep secrets.

And you _can't_ be.

So, to clear your head, you decide to take a break for once. Despite everything telling you not to—to not waste time, to continue _searching_ —you realize the only way you can continue is if you’re in a “good” state of mind; as good as you can make it right now.

You enter the piano room with no preparation. You don’t scour for music sheets, nor do you try to articulate something through memory alone.

You play, and nothing but meaningless, imperfect sounds come from your playing. You don’t try to string anything together. You don’t try to make something up. You play scales until you tire of them, and move on to chords, and then to chords and scales at the same time.

You have no direction here. You don’t have to have one.

You just play.

Until eventually, your fingers hurt. Only then do you stop.

And you listen to the silence.

Someone is here with you.

You turn, expecting to see Toriel or Frisk, having snuck into the room without your knowledge somehow, but...

A phantom stands in front of you, their expression vacant of discernable emotion.

**You are wasting time,** they echo your own previous thought, and ultimately, you just can’t help it.

You laugh.

You find it funny they’ve chosen to finally show their face to you. You find it funny that you know exactly what they are going to say here.

~~You find it funny that they’re right.~~

“Yeah. Guess I never stopped.”

It’s been a while since you’ve seen them last. You can’t remember when, specifically—for obvious reasons. You think they do, though.

You’re pretty sure they know a lot you don’t. ~~Not anymore.~~

And truly, you can’t understand why you can see them now, after all this time of hiding from you.

For a moment, anger strikes inside you.

“Is that why you’re here?” you accuse. “To tell me what I’m doing wrong?”

Because this would be the moment—they have every right to call you out, to tell you how much you royally screwed up again.

I’m trying my best, you want to say.

I’m just trying to do the right thing, you want to scream.

_I’m just trying to—_

**Yes. I know.**

You blink, only distantly recalling their tie to your soul; their ability to read your thoughts.

**I know what you are trying to do here, (Y/N). You and I are... Alike, in that way. But I am not here to reaffirm what we already know.**

So what, then...?

Chara casts their gaze down to their transparent feet, an unspoken reverence about them that you don’t understand at first.

You open your mouth to speak,

**I’m sorry.**

and then you close it.

The ghostly child takes this as a sign of sorts, and backs away a step. **Nothing I say can properly excuse my behavior,** their voice continues echoing in your mind, soft and subdued. **I know that. I know that, regardless of my reasons, I have been unfair to you.**

“Wh—”

**And I still have to be.**

But _why_?

Why, after all this time...?

No. You don’t need to know why.

You harden your gaze.

“Fine. Like I said, I don’t need your help anyways. I don’t need _anyone’s_ —”

Chara puts their hand over your own, the gesture speaking for itself, even as it phases through.

**Stop telling yourself that.**

You _can’t_ , you still have to—

**Ultimately, it will not _matter_ whether or not everyone helps you, **they say firmly, **because you _know_ what you have to do.**

“What?” you choke out. “What do I have t—wh...”

No. No, you can’t give up.

You can’t...

They pull away, their invisible comfort leaving you feeling lost all over again. Yet, they go on, **Do not tell your friends, but make the most of the time you can have with them again. Things will be best that way.**

But what if—

**They know where you are.**

Your blood runs cold.

The room feels cold, suddenly, and you shake your head quickly.

“No—no, I can still—I can still fix this, I...”

But you know Chara’s already gone.

The space feels empty again, and only you remain. You can talk to the wall as much as you want—it won’t change a thing.

You’re not sure you can continue speaking coherently, after hearing their words.

...

But they’re not right.

They can’t be.

You won’t _let_ them be.

You can’t listen to them—you have to stick with your gut. You have to keep everyone away. _You have to keep him away._

_You can still do this._

~~But it’s already too late.~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> h a h
> 
> you guys have been h a d
> 
>   
> ~~(i'm so sorry lmao)~~


	48. A Beautiful Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can see right through you, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first post in 2021, lesago  
> also i honestly hate this chapter--like, the last half is okay but i really don't like the lead-up to it lmao. and yet i cannot for the life of me figure out a way to make it any better hah--
> 
> anyway i made this trashy fic as a side thing for the holidays if you wanna read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28081581  
> it's significantly more fluffy believe it or not (at least by my standards) so uh, hopefully it makes up for this...?
> 
> well, without further ado,
> 
> here comes the main course of angst :'D

It’s a beautiful day outside.

The sun is shining... Birds are singing, flowers are blooming...

...At least, as best they can in this heat.

Had you known it would be _this_ hot, you wouldn’t have worn jeans. (Apparently, that’s a running theme for you: more specifically, to make dumb decisions.) Nevertheless here you are, standing on their front step, already sweating and uncomfortable. ~~For more than one reason.~~

This is a bad idea. This has to be, why did you think it ever _was_ a good idea to bring them into this again?

...

No, no. Papyrus is not being involved. He’s not, he _can’t_ be, you’re just being paranoid. You’re just trying to _relax_ , just for one day, as best you can. After this you won’t have to see him again—not for a while, at least. You won’t have to risk anything. You—

The door swings open, crushing your daydreams as aforementioned cheery skeleton instantly goes to shake your hand.

“(Y/N)!! I’M SO GLAD YOU COULD MAKE IT!”

His grip, unsurprisingly, is jittery and energized, and when he pulls away, it takes a moment for your arm to recover. “Uh, y-yeah,” you stammer, voice shaking for likely _several_ different reasons right now. “I said I would...?”

“OF COURSE! ANYHOW, WHERE’S TORIEL AND FRISK? I THOUGHT THEY’D BE COMING WITH YOU.”

“...Uhhhh.”

You can’t just say you purposely left before them for avoidance purposes, can you?

Yeah, no, you can’t. You need to come up with an excuse. A _good_ excuse, so it seems everything’s fine.

~~... _Really_?~~

~~You’re going to _pretend_ what you’re doing is fine?~~

~~Whatever you say doesn’t change the fact you’re being a—~~

You force a smile, though watery as it may be.

“I... Didn’t tell them I’d be coming here so—I-I wanted to surprise them, sort of.”

...

Even you find it sad that that’s the best you can come up with.

But he _seems_ to be buying it, so...?

“OH! I GET IT,” Papyrus says, nodding sagely—almost _exaggeratedly_ sagely.

...

_Gods, you hope he’s not being sarcastic._

Without a beat he continues casually, “THAT’S NICE OF YOU! IN A ROUNDABOUT, ODD SORT OF WAY!!”

“...Yeah?”

Something... Strange enters his grin, before he suddenly turns on his heel and starts back towards the house. “ANYWHO!! EVERYONE’S OUTSIDE ALREADY BUT WE’RE STILL WAITING ON TORIEL AND FRISK, LIKE I PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED!”

“Everyone?” you echo, following his marching stride inside while dodging the furniture scattered about.

“YES, UNDYNE AND ALPHYS!! ...I SUPPOSE THEY AS A PAIR DON’T COUNT AS EVERYONE, BUT I DIGRESS.”

You find yourself smiling despite the turmoil in you, his cheery and carefree mood starting to rub off on you—even as you two enter through the sliding glass door and into the backyard.

Even as you spot Undyne, and she spots you; and you lock gazes.

Before you can so much as wave at her, she says an awkward, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say back.

You...

...Decide to leave it at that.

Stiffly, you walk over to greet Alphys, who is in the middle of setting up some things on the table. “Hey, Alphys!” you exclaim in much-less-stiff fashion.

She spins around, a startled smile breaking out across her face. “O-oh, um—hey, (Y/N)! I-it’s nice to see you again!”

_Really?_ you resist the urge to ask; instead, you continue smiling back. “Thanks! It’s nice to see you again too!”

She mutters a thank you, still grinning awkwardly, and your conversation is replaced by the sound of silence and distant chirping.

...

Huh.

This is already going the way you thought it would. Just about anyway.

Well, the least you could do for her, at least...

“Hey, I... I’m sorry about the other day? I didn’t mean to snap at you a—at you.”

You chew your lip, but she just smiles, a bit more genuinely. “O-oh, it’s fine; I know you’re probably just, um, stressed about... Y’know.”

“Uh. Yeah,” you supply articulately, “but that’s... It’s still not an excuse to—I promised myself I wouldn’t... I’d try to be better.”

You feel sick, suddenly. Like you’re going to throw up.

~~Because you _know_ you’re not saying this to the right person.~~

Maybe it’s just because you’re hungry.

Yeah, that’s probably it.

“Uh—anyway,” you say abruptly, “can I help...?”

You gesture to the table for clarification, and something like disguised relief crosses her expression. “O-oh, um... Sure, if you want to.”

So you start doing such, assisting her in setting up the other food stuffs, potato salad, chips, and bread buns alike. As the two of you begin discussing casual topics back and forth, you start to relax more—and when Toriel and Frisk arrive, it’s easier to smile at them than it had been.

“Hey guys!” you greet them. “Sorry I, uhh... Left suddenly? Figured I’d get a head-start...?”

Toriel dismisses your words with a shake of her head, saying, “Oh, don’t be sorry. I am just glad you decided to come!”

Frisk, for their part, pointedly stares elsewhere without saying anything to you; but you expected that. And you’re not sure if _you_ should say anything—you’re not sure you want to get involved in _that_ mess, either.

(You’ve got enough to deal with.)

Reluctantly you tear your gaze away from the child, once again all smiles. “Me too!”

Not a moment later Papyrus marches over to the table, carrying a plate filled with hamburgers and hotdogs. “THEY’RE DONE!” he announces proudly as he sets them down. “AND I ONLY BURNED THEM AT LEAST THREE-THIRDS THIS TIME!!”

...Maybe you’ll just stick with the potato salad.

You take a seat between Alphys and Toriel, with Undyne on Alphys’s other side; Frisk and Papyrus sit together on the opposite side of the table, discussing something amongst themselves. (Or, rather, Papyrus rambling and them just listening quietly while eating.) You only eat one plate of salad and chips before opting out to just sit and idle, listening to the chatter around you.

For just a moment, this feels... Nice. Like things _are_ fine. ~~Like you haven’t made a mess of things.~~ Like you _belong_ here, and deserve this.

You can still make a life for yourself here, despite everything. Despite not remembering.

You can still apologize. You don’t have to avoid him anymore, things can go back to _normal_ , despite...

Despite...

...

You feel sick again.

You look at everyone around you, and suddenly you’re not able to think coherently anymore.

You consider what you thought before—and you discard it.

You need to get out of here.

You don’t even know why, but you need to be alone, you have to leave.

You can’t do this.

“I’m, uh—” You stand up abruptly, purposely avoiding the gazes on you. “I’m just going to use the bathroom real quick. Where—”

“UM, FIRST DOOR ON THE RIGHT.”

“Thanks.”

You lift yourself over the picnic bench, and head quickly towards the porch, proceeding taking the stairs two at a time. Once there you slide the glass door open and step back into the house, breathing out a small sigh before closing it behind you.

Alone, you let your shoulders sag, as though the weight of the world has just been placed atop you.

Your thoughts clear, somewhat. It’s not as loud anymore.

Then you chuckle.

“ _Gods_ , what am I doing,” you mutter to yourself, running a hand through your hair haphazardly.

On all accounts, it’s a good question. What _are_ you doing?

If you go on like this, what are you doing?

If you decide to give up, what are you doing?

What are you trying to accomplish anymore?

Why is it so _hard_ to accomplish what you’re trying to accomplish?

What are you even fighting for?

...

There’s so many things you don’t know.

So many questions, so little answers.

...

Maybe you should stop thinking, or asking questions. You know you have a tendency to do that.

Maybe you should stop treating the people around you like dogshit, even if it costs something else.

...Maybe, if you ask, they _could_ have a chance at being able to help you. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a better alternative to this.

Maybe. Just, _maybe_...

“...(Y/N)?”

You freeze.

You look up, and you see him.

And you’re reminded of why there can’t be a better alternative to this.

He’s just... Standing there, in the kitchen. There’s what appears to be a ketchup bottle in his hand, and the fridge is open in front of him—though both objects seem to be forgotten by him.

He’s watching you. Observing you, almost, with a clear question in his gaze.

He speaks again, voice hoarse, yet somehow concerned:

“a-are you okay?”

You thought he wasn’t here, somehow. ~~~~

...But there he is.

And he just asked you if you were okay.

~~Of all the things he could ask...~~

You straighten, wondering if he saw your pseudo-breakdown or not. You should say something too.

You _have_ to, but...

...

You find that you can’t.

Your tongue is tied, and your limbs feel like they’re going to fall off.

And as expected, the skeleton visibly falters under your blank stare.

You see him start to panic slightly, and all you can do is stay frozen, not sure what to do.

You _want_ to say something else. You _want_ to do something other than stand here and let this happen.

Instead, you watch him too.

Instead, you watch him subtly crumble, his body seemingly rattling as he desperately searches for a solution in the situation.

“s—... sorry.”

In the next instant, Sans is gone, likely driven to assume you’re still judging him. You still don’t want him here, and you didn’t have to say anything to prove that.

In a roundabout, much-too-late realization, you see part of it now—what you’re doing to him.

~~Is this really for the best?~~

_It’s better this way,_ you tell yourself.

~~But it’s not.~~

You know that.

So,

you just laugh.

You laugh, and continue laughing.

It’s so funny to you, that you can’t stop.

Tears fill your eyes.

Your soul aches.

_You can’t move._

...

. . .

...But.

Despite everything....

You know what you have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just, entirely off-topic but i couldn't any other way to include this so,
> 
> saltyseatea made some great stuff _and_ they're making a story inspired by this one, which is really awesome! (plus the fluff they write is a nice break from this mess--)
> 
> go check them out!!


	49. i'll be alright, it's just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans pretends it's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugggh _finally_ i got to writing this,
> 
> i pretty much had this one planned since like chapter 15 or so (i don't know the exact timeframe pft) and i'm so h a p p y that we've reached it you don't even know aH--
> 
> hope you guys like it!! :D
> 
> (and if it isn't already obvious, [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VI7Saj6Fass) is the theme song for this chapter lmbo)

When he sees you there, it feels like everything stops, all at once.

You’re just... Standing there, fingers threaded through your hair, gaze locked on the floor. You look haunted. You look beaten down, like you’ve come so far for something but you still failed.

Without thinking your name slips past his teeth, tentative but shocked. He wishes he could say he’s happy to see you. He wishes he knew what to say, or what to do here, but all he can do is stare at you—and truth be told he can’t even manage much of _that_.

You glance at him, and fear flits across your face; pure _fear_ , seemingly directed at him, but he can’t figure out why.

He knows it’s directed at him, yet...

“a-are you okay?” he asks quietly, even if chances are, it’ll just make things worse for him. You’re not okay; you’re not okay, and it’s his fault—and he doesn’t know what to do to help you, but seeing you like this is still painful.

In return, you lock eyes with him, and stare back.

Clearly, you didn’t expect him to be here, somehow. Maybe you were invited here and no one told you he’d be here. Maybe you wanted to spend time with everyone else, but knowing they lied, and knowing he’s been in the house this entire time is too much for you.

He clearly hurt you somehow—he’s _still_ hurting you in this very moment, and it makes him feel gross.

He feels gross because he doesn’t know what else to do. He feels almost _sick_ because _you’re_ here, and he knows you don’t want him here but he has nowhere else to go—he’s too weak to go anywhere else, he _knows_ if he tries he’ll probably shortcut himself out of existence.

. . .

...Maybe...

Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

Maybe that’s what you want. Maybe it will make you happy.

He has to make up for what he did. _He has to._ _He has to **try** , if nothing else. _You deserve that much. You deserve _everything_ , the whole universe and then some, even if he _knows_ he can’t give you such.

... _Gods_ , what he won’t give just to say he’s sorry. The absolute _least_ he could do is that: apologize for not giving you everything. Apologize for letting you leave, letting it even come to that.

Apologize for not being there for you. Apologize for letting someone hurt you, and take you away, and strip you of the life you knew—apologize for not being able to _protect you_.

Apologize for _everything_.

“s—”

He chokes on it, at first.

“...sorry.”

As soon as the word leaves him, Sans shortcuts without question; only realizing after the fact that he should have been more careful, regardless of what you may want. He’s actually surprised when he ends up back in his room, mostly unharmed, despite the ever-increasing pain in his soul. His HP must have dropped at least a little, for this pain feels different—more permanent, this time. Not just fueled by a momentary emotion.

(Hah—as if any of his emotions _can_ be momentary and not-damaging when it comes to you.)

Upon attempting movement, he stumbles and almost falls clumsily against his bed. Naturally, the action makes him bark out a sudden, rather delirious laugh at his own expense. At this point it’s like the universe is just _striving_ to make a fool of him; and to its credit, this _has_ been pretty hilarious. If there really is some higher being out there, he wouldn’t blame them for getting a kick out of this. It must be _hysterical_ to watch him right now, still keeping this up, _still_ **_trying_** , even when he should know _damn well_ there isn’t a point.

And he does know.

...

He thought he did, anyhow.

Then again, he also thought things would be different, once upon a time. He thought maybe, just _maybe_ , the universe would give him a second chance at living. He thought the human was good. Then he thought they’d go back, they’d _listen_ , because Papyrus gave them no reason _not_ to.

At the end, when he reappeared back in his own bed, and not in the corridor, he thought they _had_ listened. They had changed, and their promise to him _meant_ something. They wouldn’t Reset; they wouldn’t even consider it, consider betraying him like that.

You showed up, and he thought you would disappear after some time—stay, but only for a little while, and leave because you couldn’t handle his problems. When you stayed, and listened to him, and were there for him, he thought it would change if he told you he’d accidentally, hopelessly fallen in love with you.

When it didn’t change he thought you would say no.

And when he woke up every day for two whole weeks, just to see your smile,

he honestly thought it would last.

For once, he could be happy again. Not just with you, but because of you.

Because he knew you loved him. Because you thought he was worth that.

He should have known what too much thinking does for him:

It gives him a really bad headache.

. . .

That’s not funny.

Yet, Sans laughs.

He laughs, because it's fine, because it's _alright_.

It's alright if you don't want to see him. It really, truly is, because he messed up.

You're smart for doing this. You're smart, because you won't let him hurt you anymore.

Without him, you'll be happy. 

And for that reason, you don't have to say goodbye.

It's okay.

He's okay.

He laughs until it turns into a sob, then buries his face in the face of his pillow, almost completely blocking out the world from his senses. (Vainly and dryly, a part of him wishes he had a functioning nose and required air to breathe.)

He wonders if you’re going to leave altogether because of him. You should. He’d be surprised if you’re still here, actually—if anything you’re probably saying goodbye to everyone now.

A bit bitterly, he lets that comfort him,

for if he truly deserved a goodbye, or your time, or _anything_ from you...

You’d still want him in your life.

* * *

Unsurprisingly it’s taken you a good two minutes to get unstuck and finally move your feet elsewhere. Your brain is still on hyper drive, of course, and your soul feels like it’s going to tear itself in half at any given moment, but what else is new?

Having never been upstairs in their house before, you ascend the steps uncertainly, and cautiously, in a way. You almost stop halfway, purely out of that odd fear from before—the one you can’t explain, but had driven you regardless, only comforting you because it kept repeating the same things:

_This is for the best._

_It’s **better** this way._

You almost say to Hell with those notions now that you’ve made your decision, but quite honestly, they still bear some weight; enough that you second-guess questioning them even after everything that just happened.

...

But.

Surely, even if they _are_ true, in some way—there has to be a _better_ way to go about it. Right?

~~Please. There has to be.~~

~~You can’t keep doing this.~~

~~Not to him.~~

And hey; if anything, this might confirm it, if you directly ask him. If it doesn’t, maybe you don’t have to feel _as_ bad for this.

~~But you already _know_.~~

You pick out his door from Papyrus’s (which isn’t hard, it’s simpler and much less bright) before stepping up to it, less than confidently. With baited breath, you reassess your options once more.

On the one hand, maybe he’s fine—“fine” as in, there’s... Not an _actual,_ _secondary_ risk. He can cope. ...Eventually.

On the other hand...

He’s not fine.

... _Maybe_ not fine.

Maybe you’re doing this all wrong, and—you really _are_ hurting him, more than you thought you were, and...

~~You saw it.~~

~~You know it, you _saw_ him, _you’re killing him._~~

...

And if that’s the case—if there’s even a _chance_ , and you _know_ there has to be...

Then there isn’t a point to avoiding him anymore, because it goes against what you want.

~~And what is that, exactly?~~

...

You...

Want him to be okay.

You want him to be _okay_.

That’s what you want, above everything else.

So, despite the risk—you have to do this.

You have to _know_.

You take in a deep breath,

and you knock.

For a moment, everything seems to go quiet. Then, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door, slow, but sounding almost calculated.

There’s a long pause.

But a few seconds later, the door starts to creak open, and you can already hear him muttering something.

“ _listen_ Papyrus, i—”

He opens it wide enough to see you.

...And the words die, for it’s made fairly obvious you’re not actually his brother.

He takes a startled step back, almost stumbling, but manages to right himself.

“wh-what—” His voice comes out shaky, and panicked, like you’d seen before. “i-i don’t—... why...?”

You realize it’s time for you to explain yourself.

And, to your credit, you _start_ to, but...

You also start... _Noticing_ things, now that he’s up close (and you're mostly in your right mind). Small details about his appearance, you notice, that you wouldn’t have been able to spot otherwise.

In other words,

he looks _sick_.

The white on his bones is too dull, and he’s wearing the exact same clothes you last saw him in—except now stained, and wrinkled. His eye-lights are barely there in his sockets, long-since faded—too weak to shine as brightly as they used to; and yet they’re somehow _bigger_ than you’re used to seeing, as if someone took an eyedropper to them and dilated them (if that’s even possible for a skeleton).

The only thing semi-normal about him is the dark circles under his eyesockets, which were prominent pretty much any time you saw him—and even then, they’re a bit darker now, coupled with tear streaks he’d obviously tried but failed to rub off.

All of this begs a lot of questions, quite frankly; but somehow, what you find truly unsettling is that he’s just staring back at you unblinkingly, his grin on the verge of breaking.

You open and close your mouth, feeling like a fish out of water on all accounts.

When you finally find your voice, it cracks.

“What—what happened, why—”

You know damn well _why_.

Something tells you he should have been dust by now. He shouldn’t still be here, how is he still...

How did you _not_...

...

~~How have you not _broken_ him yet...?~~

You need to Check him—you need to know for certain, so you can—

“C-can I...”

Instinctively your hand reaches out for him; but you take it back quickly, unsure.

Sans looks at you, smile wavering further, almost completely slipping.

“w... why do you care? i-i’m okay, why does it even—why does it matter, _i_ don’t—” He cuts himself off, confused, and lost. But he’s looking directly at you, almost seeing through you, yet not quite.

Almost like... He can see something you can’t.

“i’m okay,” he says again, attempting to convince you. “i’m fine, see, it’s...”

“Please, Sans.”

He falters once more.

“I—I have to make sure...” You trail off, dread and uncertainty pooling into your gut, making it hard to breathe, much less talk. As though Sans can sense it, his gaze softens.

...Still, he looks reluctant.

Still, he’s doubting why this matters to you—why you should bother with him.

But, you can see it in him: he can’t say no.

Even in spite of himself, he trusts you; and he wants to make you happy, in _any_ way possible.

Slowly, the light in the room seems to dim. And when your soul continues to make its intent known, you hear words spoken to you, somehow.

Somehow, you can almost _see_ them.

*** SANS – ATK 1 DEF 1**

*** .03/1 HP remaining. [REDACTED INFORMATION].**

*** Is losing Hope, but still loves you.**

Before you can begin to comprehend it, something else comes into view, clearing your vision. When the words fade, you try to see what it is.

You freeze.

It’s his soul.

He holds it in front of him, with trembling hands. Except—

...No.

No, this...

_This isn’t right._

“oh, shoot.”

Sans seems to realize the same moment you do, his grin suddenly as wide as normal, but dry and bitter, almost. His sockets are wide, his much-too-large eye-lights shrinking somewhat.

But you’re too focused on the upside down heart, watching the unnerving way it bobs above his palms;

watching the hairline cracks gradually grow, causing more fragments of his soul to break off, and fizzle into nothing.


	50. A Thousand Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _About time_ , really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy 50th chapter!! 🎉 it's been a long time coming and i'm super excited to finally get it out :D
> 
> honestly i love you guys so much, i couldn't ask for a better audience honestly haha! thank you for sticking with me this far <33! as much as i love my angst ~~and being a sadistic psychopath to collectively my readers and my poor skeleson~~ , hopefully this starts making up for all of the pain :)
> 
> p.s. obviously A+-worthy chapter description, you're welcome--

Your own soul stutters.

It stutters, and spirals, and _screams_ at you, begging you to _do_ something— _anything_ , _help him, don’t leave him, **don’t let him**_ —

“uh. hah...”

He _laughs_ , of all things.

“sorry. didn’t even really kn—”

“’Sorry?’” you repeat in a small voice, causing Sans to stop almost immediately.

He sees the obvious terror in your face, and quickly, his ever-present smile upturns. “h... hey, don’t worry, i’m—i’m fine, this is just...”

“ _No_.”

Sans flinches.

You carry on, despite the way that wavers you:

“Stop saying you’re fine, you’re clearly _not_ and—... You need _help_. How do I...”

In response he lets his soul float back into his chest, looking alarmingly calm still. “you can’t,” he replies, and before you can freak out further he adds, “i just gotta eat something, i mean. hence the, uh... ketchup.”

...

Wait a second.

_Wait a damn second._

Monsters don’t _need_ to eat. That’s what he told you, _that’s_ —

Does he mean monster food? Does it...

Oh gods.

Is that what he was keeping from you? Is monster food used for _healing_?

If that’s the case, how...

_How long has he been—_

“No,” you say abruptly, “n-no, you ne—not ketchup.” _Was it even that kind of ketchup, or was it just **regular** ketchup, was he even **planning** to— _“You need actual food, you need...”

...

He...

He needs _you_.

And you need to do something, other than just stand here and let this happen.

“Where is—”

“don’t bother.”

You startle a bit. His grin is painfully tight, now— _trying_ to be reassuring, but looking more like a grimace on his part.

“seriously, just—don’t worry about it,” he attempts again, voice only a bit shaky. “if i need to i can just... y’know, there’s... water sausages?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, causing him to cast his gaze downward, his voice morphing into somewhat of a mumble:

“you can leave now. it’s fine.”

_That’s_ obviously a lie, and both of you know that. At this point he’s almost _desperately_ trying to underplay the severity of this, as though it would even _somewhat_ convince you; like slapping a band aid over a broken bone and calling that “good enough.”

And it is _not_ “good enough.”

Therefore, you _do_ decide to leave—but not for the reason he thinks.

“Stay here,” is all you mutter, before you turn, marching your way to the stairs again and back down into the kitchen,

because whether _he_ wants it or not, you’re _going_ to help him.

You return a few minutes later to find Sans now sitting on his bed, staring at the nearby wall with completely-void eyesockets.

Without saying a word you enter the room, edging closer to him, your movements edging on cautious; his skull almost jerks towards you, confusion and surprise briefly flashing in his weak eye-lights. It takes a moment for his expression to flatten out once more, as if your presence hadn’t been a novel to him.

~~You know it must be, even now.~~

Your mind practically a blank slate, you just go to hand him a water sausage in a hotdog bun, along with a bag of chisps. At the time, it doesn’t occur to you how you already seemed to know what a water sausage _was_ when you went to obtain it—everything has fuddled your brain today, apparently.

Sans simply looks at you in silence, gaze unreadable.

Then...

He re-steadies his permanent grin, as though it’s enough to convince you this is all fine. “thanks. you’re a real life saver.”

Your frown only deepens at that—clearly, the opposite effect of what he had been going for, if the way his own smile wavers has anything to say about it.

~~What _had_ he been going for? ~~

_~~A **giggle**?~~ _ ~~~~

“Eat,” is your logical reply instead. Albeit hesitantly, he takes the food from you.

And stands up, setting it down on his bedside table.

“not hungry,” he says. 

Before you can even begin to think of a response to that, your phone rings.

With much reluctance, you have no choice but to pick it up. “Hello?”

_“UMM—HELLO, (Y/N)!”_

Consider you more flabbergasted, honestly. And of course, with your luck, your tongue ties.

_“I’M? SORRY TO BOTHER YOU, BUT I JUST?? COULDN’T HELP BUT NOTICE YOU’RE TAKING A WHILE! IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? IS, ERR—IS IT, **NORMAL** , FOR...?”_

On that note, your tongue unravels and your voice comes back to you, giving you room to blurt out, “Uh, yeah—I mean, no, everything’s fine, I just...”

Your eyes travel slowly, settling on the skeleton standing idly next to his bed, who keeps his own eyes elsewhere.

“...Sans... Needs something.”

There’s a very noticeable break in the conversation, in which neither you nor Papyrus do much of anything. You almost consider saying something else, for context, maybe, when,

_“I SEE. I’LL LEAVE YOU TO THAT, THEN. BYE!”_

He hangs up before you can even add-on your own words.

...Well, then. At least that’s settled...?

_That_ , anyway. You still have a bigger problem right in front of you here, and the bonehead in front of you is probably going to choose to ignore it.

You get to your feet, fully prepared to step past him and snatch the food back up, when he steps in front of you, blocking your path.

You open your mouth, but,

“what are you doing?”

he beats you to it, _suspiciously_ nonchalant again.

“What do you _think_ I’m doing?” you say with a slight narrow of your eyes. “You need to—”

You reach involuntarily for the chisps, only for your hand to be caught by his. “i told you i’m fine. why are you still here?”

“I’m trying to help—”

“why?”

You stop. Gently, he pushes your hand away, then releases it, regarding you with hazy eye-lights.

“why,” he utters again, letting out a small laugh that uneases you, “you’re not going to get anything out of it, what’s the point? you didn’t come here for _me_ , you’re supposed to be seein’ _them_ , i’m—you _know_ you’re better off with them, why are you _bothering_? why does it...”

Another huff of a laugh, a bit more unhinged and fake,

“why does it _matter_ to you?”

You’d like to say why.

...

You can’t.

You want to explain. You want to _try_.

...But everything is so loud inside of you.

It rings in your ear, making you freeze, rendering you speechless.

And just slightly, because of it, you see him falter.

And again, your soul stutters.

You don’t know what it is but something’s _begging_ you to comfort him, as if that’s how you can start to make things right, somehow.

So you trust that feeling, above all the others. You do it without thinking.

You step forward, and you pull him into a hug.

As expected, Sans immediately stiffens, the gesture foreign to him.

...Then, his hands come up to gently pry your arms off him, and he pushes you away.

“don’t.”

Your arms fall back to your sides.

“Sans...” you say hoarsely, but he shakes his head, his words coming out stilted:

“no. stop. just—just go _,_ just leave.”

“ _No_.” You’re not giving up that easily. You _can’t_. “I’m not—”

“s-stop, you’re—”

His grin warbles for a moment, just barely holding itself together. “you hate me. you have to, why are you still here, just go, just... leave. please.”

He’s rooted to his pot, but he feebly tries pushing you away again by your shoulders, his entire arms trembling now.

“i-i don’t get it, why are you—why can’t you just...”

His hands shake, resorting to clutching the fabric of your shirt tight in his phalanges,

“ _leave_ , don’t care about me, please don’t, not again—”

His legs give up, and he lets go of you; but you hold on and follow him to the floor, softening his fall as you half-catch him.

Not a second later a sob breaks from him, while your arms find their way around him again.

“ _please_ ,” he gasps out, “i don’t want to hurt you again, i don’t—”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

Your voice is so soft, you almost think he didn’t hear you—but by the way you feel him tense, it’s clear he did.

“You _never_ hurt me, Sans,” you go on, “I don’t hate you, I _don’t_. I...”

_Then why?_ you hear the universe ask you.

You don’t know why.

You can’t, and you’re not sure you ever will.

But...

“I had to protect you.”

You didn’t know what else to do.

You couldn’t tell yourself _why_ ; not completely. You panicked. You panicked, he got _involved_ and something told you _you had to protect him_. _He had to **stay away**._

“But I-I hurt you anyway, I—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t...”

Your breath quavers, and soon, you feel a pair of arms return your embrace, gingerly pressing against you.

“i-it’s okay,” he still says shakily.

He’s still trying to comfort _you_.

And that makes it not okay.

_None_ of this was okay, even if you’d done it for the right reasons.

So properly, you say it.

“No, I... I’m so sorry, Sans. F-for everything, I—”

You suck in another bought of air.

“...I’m sorry for leaving, at all.”

Truly, you mean that.

You won’t remember why you did. Maybe not ever.

But you know you made a mistake, in doing that to him.

In response, Sans wheezes out a laugh, his grip tightening on you ever so slightly.

“don’t be,” he mumbles. “you probably had a good reason then too, just can’t remember. ...maybe i’ll remind you.”

You wish he were kidding.

You know he’s not.

“You won’t,” you tell him matter-of-factly. “If I... No, if past me left because of _you_ , then that’s on _past me_. Not you.”

Sans snorts, and you get the feeling he still does not believe you.

...But, it gives you more reason to hug him longer. Kind of.

You want him to be okay now.

If you can manage to do that for him, then...

...

Maybe this will all be worth it.

Maybe, you don’t have to know everything.

~~Maybe it’s okay to not know what happened—not know who your sister is.~~

Maybe,

you can still stay here.

You’re not entirely sure how long you remain like that, simply sitting still with your arms around him. However, eventually you feel him almost sag against you, and you realize you’ve probably kept him here long enough.

~~And, everyone is probably going to start _wondering_ , so to speak, if Papyrus told them what you’d told him. Best to get _that_ made clear soon.~~

You pull yourself away from Sans, murmuring an, “I should, uh... Get going. You could probably use some rest.”

He blinks slowly at you.

“...yeah,” he mutters after a moment, looking a lot more drowsy than before; almost dazed.

“Um. Do you... Need anything else...?”

He shakes his head, rubbing his arm across his eyesockets, wiping loose tears away. “i’m... ’m good.”

You manage a weak smile. “Good. Remember to uh, eat, by the way.”

“ok.”

You hesitate. Briefly, you study him a moment further.

There’s... A lot more you want to say to him, really. A lot more you wish you could.

But... Now’s not the time.

Maybe another day.

Instead, you go to stand,

only for Sans to catch your wrist gently, phalanges just barely wrapping around. “wait.”

Expecting a request, you readily say, “Yeah?”

Instead, he tilts his skull towards your hand, and touches his teeth lightly to your skin. “thanks,” he murmurs.

...You’re...

Not entirely sure how to respond to that. Other than a meager, “You’re welcome,” of course.

~~If your face is just a bit redder after that, it’s most certainly from being in the sun.~~

Then, awkwardly: “I’ll, uhh... Talk to you later...?”

It’s hesitant—you wonder if he’d even want to, after this.

But, having not moved from his spot on the floor, Sans just gives you a tired grin. “sure," he says softly. "see you.”

It’s a bit sadder than usual, but it’s genuine; so you gladly take it, and make your leave.

This is definitely... _Some_ sort of progress, you think? I mean, by all accounts you’re not treating him as you did anymore—it makes you feel a whole lot lighter, to consider that.

...But.

At the same time...

~~No, it’s... Fine.~~

~~It has to be.~~

~~Chara was still just...~~

In any case, regardless of what past you did—and current you, for that matter—you want to make up for it. ...You’ve told yourself that already, you know, but...

This feels different.

It _is_ different. You don’t want to take Sans for granted anymore. You want to start over; you want to be a good friend to him, for _certain_ this time. No strings attached.

...

And, you want to make sure he knows that—that you actually do care. It’s taken you _this long_ to realize it, maybe, but you refuse to let it go to waste. You want him to realize that for all the things he’s done for you, he should get twice as much. You’re not going to screw this up again.

Indeed, Sans thinks he might have been the reason you left. And before, maybe you might have nursed that. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered to you, amidst everything else. (Maybe you did leave because of him, that day.)

But now...

Now, you think you’ve got time to prove him wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as kind of a side note, originally i didn't plan for this miniplot's conclusion to be the 50th chapter but it worked out that way, and ended up kind of being perfect and just--
> 
> i'm kinda proud of myself for it :'D (even if it took this frickin long for Sans to get his hug pfft)
> 
> as always, thanks for reading!!


	51. In the Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You receive a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am exhausted for no good reason but h e r e,
> 
> fluff start...?

When you open your eyes, you are definitely _not_ in your bed.

You’re lying on something soft, but it’s not a mattress—and when you peer around at your surroundings, you clarify this. You sit up, rubbing at your head, eyes roving the flowers surrounding you.

Golden flowers. You remember them; once upon a time, someone showed them to you, but...

...

You can’t recall who, or why.

It’s been a while since you were last here, though. ...You can’t quite decide if that should be a good thing or not.

But, the figure—the one from before, isn’t here.

Instead, you see a different figure in front of you, dressed in a black cloak of sorts. This time you can speak to him. Everything is clearer now.

“I take it you’re not mad at me anymore?” you assess.

Gaster rolls his eye-lights a bit; then, with a single flick of his wrist, the field of flowers vanishes. It’s replaced with a different field—the one you saw him in before. The other one _you’ve_ been in.

Stars glisten over your head, and you feel... Somewhat calmer, now. There’s a breeze flowing through now, rustling the trees in the distance, stirring the grass beneath your feet.

**“Not entirely,”** he says at last, no longer a mere voice in your head. But his words are still warbled, somehow—echoing around you, wavering through the wind.

Despite yourself, you laugh. You guess that’s fair.

...Even so,

“Did you know?”

He blinks his eyesockets at you, clearly confused. **“Know what?”**

“I remember you could tell I...” You weigh your words carefully, pondering. “You knew for a fact I was lying,” you decide on slowly, “about Sans. Did you—did you just, _realize_ that, or—do you _know_ something? Did you already know why I was doing it?”

**“With certainty, I can say no to that,”** Gaster replies coolly. **“...I had my suspicions, however.”**

Suspicions...?

“What do you mean?” you press, but instead, he shakes his head.

**“I think it is best we keep it under wraps for now.”**

“But—”

**“ _No_ ,” **he cuts in, just a bit coldly, causing you to falter. **“The less any of us know, the better. If you want to protect everyone, then do not look into it.”**

That’s...

You _want_ to protect them, but how would that...?

“You _know_ something,” you blurt, “shouldn’t you—”

Gaster flicks his wrist again, and everything fades away. For a moment, it’s just you, alone in the field.

...

Then you open your eyes.

*

****

****

**_Sans:_ ** _hey uh_

_I know i already thanked you but_

_thanks again_

_it means a lot_

_sorry for freaking out on you_

You frown at your phone slightly.

It’s only a little past seven-thirty—you know for a fact he should still be asleep right now. Chances are, he _just_ woke up, and...

_That’s_ the first thing he thinks of doing? Immediately thanking you _again_ , like what you did means _everything_? ~~You know to him, it does.~~

But then, to apologize for _any_ of that...

No.

No, you’re not having it.

**_You:_ ** _You’re welcome but don’t be sorry._

You’re the one that did that to him—that drove him to that.

**_You:_ ** _This isn’t your fault._

You leave it on that vague note—and he doesn’t argue. Or respond at all, for that matter.

~~You’re not sure whether to be relieved or worried.~~

In any case... It feels like you’re _sort_ _of_ doing the right thing. It will likely just take some time.

And you’ve probably got _that_ , at least.

...

However. You do wonder something.

You’re still not sure you want to involve him, but... Gaster’s words—they don’t sit right with you.

Chances are, Sans is going to know even less than you do, but; it might _not_ hurt to ask, right...?

~~Maybe _he_ can decipher whatever the Hell his father means.~~

~~...Or,~~

~~maybe...~~

~~Maybe you're just crazy? Maybe...~~

...

That’s for later, though.

Right now, you’re hungry.

In the middle of heating up your waffles, Frisk approaches you.

In of itself, it surprises you to an extent; you’re no stranger to their avoidance tactics (ironic, isn’t it?), and for the most part you’ve left them alone too—you had your own things to deal with at the time.

But currently... They look like they want to talk about something.

And they’re holding something, too.

If you’re going to start making amends somewhere, you can start with them.

You smile neutrally at the child, “H—”

They interrupt, holding up their palm, offering the item they wield.

“I want you to have this,” they say.

Your words die on your tongue.

Your eyes dart from Frisk’s expressionless face to the heart locket, and back again, unable to do much else as first. “B—but that’s yours,” you stammer out eventually. “I can’t—”

“I don’t want it anymore.”

...They don’t...

_Want_ it anymore?

_Why_?

“Why?” you echo aloud, eyebrows knitting in bafflement, above all else. They avoid your gaze, but keep their hand steady.

Ultimately, all that leaves their mouth in response is a simple, “You should have it.”

Sure and straightforward. Like they planned this, or...

Or they just _know_ this is the right thing.

...

You can’t take it from them. That’s _not_ right. That’s—

“I stole it anyway,” they add, tone biting, “just take it.”

...Well, then.

You still would very much rather _not_ take their heart locket, but...

You have a feeling they won’t take no for an answer.

So, sighing, you snatch it out of their hand.

“...Thanks,” you say, after a moment.

Without responding, Frisk turns away.

. . .

No.

No, you’re not letting them get away that easily.

Suddenly, you have an idea.

Is it random? Yes.

Is it dumb to want to do this _now_? Yeah, what else is new.

Are they likely going to say no? Probably.

But, you don’t want them to make the same mistakes you did—not anymore. You will keep the locket, if that’s truly what they want, but you refuse to let them continue doing this to themselves.

~~You know it must have been your fault in the first place. You can at least _try_ to make this right, can’t you?~~

“Frisk, wait!”

They do; begrudgingly. Their eyes meet yours, tentative, almost cautious. “What?”

Despite the slight coldness in their tone, you rest your case:

“Can you show me that song again?”

Their whole body tenses.

“What song?”

They look like a deer in the headlights—startled, and somewhat exposed. You can’t quite assess why, though you continue in clarification, “The one you showed me when I first came here? You thought I might remember it?”

Frisk shuffles their feet on the wooden floor, biting their lip contemplatively; what you think is contemplation, anyway.

“...It’s... Not mine, either.”

...

_Okay?_

_Why does that matter...?_

Instead of asking such, and knowing their logic now, you ask, “Why do you have it, then?”

“It doesn’t matter,” they say abruptly, “I was going to give it back. Don’t worry about it.”

And yet again they turn away from you—this time, you let them go. ~~Mostly because they don’t really give you another chance to stop them.~~

...This kid is going to be the death of you, you swear.

By nighttime, you’re actually rather relieved the day is over. You have spent the entirety of it wondering and guessing, with nothing to come of it—you were looking for a right time to bring this up, and even now you’re not really sure you should.

Yet...

**_You:_ ** _Hey, can I ask you kind of a weird question?_

**_Sans:_ ** _shoot_

It’s almost midnight now—and he still replied not even five minutes after you sent that.

Is he even _trying_ to get sleep?

~~You and him both.~~

You nearly press him on it, but whether fortunately or unfortunately, your previous suspicion gets the better of you.

...Still, there’s no easy way to go about this.

Eventually, you settle on,

_Did I know your father? Before disappearing, I mean._

There’s a good pause in between your message and his response; you’re not really surprised.

**_Sans:_ ** _maybe._

_why?_

...Maybe you should just continue this tomorrow, when you are thinking _somewhat_ more clearly.

Maybe...

**_You:_ ** _Nevermind_

_You should get some sleep_

You’re crazy.

You’ll sound crazy—that’s all there is to it, you can’t...

~~You shouldn’t be bothering him.~~

Why did you think—

...

You...

Could definitely use some sleep too, huh?

Yeah, that’s probably...

That’s probably best.

You can talk to him tomorrow. This will all make more sense then.

~~Hopefully.~~

On that note, you set your phone to vibrate and shut off the light.

~~It vibrates, once.~~

~~You don’t read his message.~~

~~He probably...~~

...

. . .

You know you must be crazy.


	52. Take Your Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ironically yet inadvertently, you run into a certain somebody when you go back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ey it is currently 1:42 in the morning but happy (very) belated valentine's day!
> 
> ya girl here was a dumb and sliced her finger on a can of cat food a few days ago and my mental health plummeted for no discernible reason, so uh, this took a while to write,
> 
> but anyway :)
> 
> official fluff begin :)))

You get up for work bright and early the next morning—only to find it’s raining like cats and dogs.

_It’s not a problem,_ you think at first, _rain never hurt anyone._

Almost as soon as you say that you hear a crack of thunder, quickly followed by flashes of lightning.

You can’t just _walk_ to Grillby’s in the middle of a thunderstorm, now can you?

~~At least it’s _suiting_ , for a Monday.~~

“Oh dear...” Toriel’s soft-spoken voice interrupts your thinking, and you turn to see her observing next to you by the window, following your gaze to the rain outside. “I forgot how unpredictable summer storms can be. I was hoping to take Frisk to the park later today, too...”

“Maybe it’ll lighten up by then?” you suggest, but her frown just deepens.

“You had plans too, did you not?”

“...Not really? I was just... Y’know. Grillby’s. But—”

“Oh! Well, I can take you, if you’d like.”

It’s your turn to deepen your frown. “I can’t ask you to do that, Toriel. You’ve got your own things to worry about, I can just—”

“Nonsense! I have got plenty of time before I have to leave myself,” she smiles reassuringly, further deflating your argument.

“But...” you try anyway, but she just shakes her head, not taking no for an answer.

“It is no problem, I promise. What time do you have to be there?”

You let out a heavy, reluctant sigh. “Well. I guess now would probably be...”

You trail off, watching her already start for the front door.

You don’t have time to feel guilty about it so you follow after her.

Begrudgingly, you let Toriel drive you to the restaurant, mostly opting to stay silent the ride there. Thankfully she _is_ able to drop you off before she has to leave for her own job, and you arrive just a few minutes early.

You wave her goodbye, watching her old van drive down the road before walking up to the door; then you open it, stepping into the warm building with a slight sigh.

You feel like it’s been way too long since you have last been here. If you’re being honest it’s only been a few days, but it feels like longer to you—especially considering what you have to make up for.

In any case, you’re glad to be back.

~~You can make yourself useful again.~~

When you finally take in your surroundings, you realize Grillby isn’t behind the bar like he normally is; rather, he’s standing by one of the booths near the wall, seemingly in the middle of talking to a patron. You don’t want to interrupt, but you also have no idea where Grillby keeps the cleaning supplies—nor do you want to stand around here doing nothing.

You kind of have no choice but to stiffly, awkwardly walk up to them, a greeting rising to your lips: “H—”

It quickly dies.

Your mind runs a blank on you, and you remain frozen for a good five seconds, blinking. You’re more confused than anything else, really, but you realize he’s staring back _right_ at you, so you have to say _something_ at this point.

Therefore, you croak out a, “Heeey?”

...

For _whatever_ reason, that just seems to make Sans relax. “hey,” he echoes, a hint of amusement in his scratchy voice.

He still sounds like he’s gargled rocks but he doesn’t sound quite as sick anymore, nor look it—it’s enough of an improvement that you find yourself smiling, just a tad, and you ease more into talking. “Are you, um... Feeling any better?”

He appears to weigh the question before answering. “...uh, yeah,” he mumbles, pointedly avoiding your gaze this time. “i’m... good. ...thanks.”

Your smile falters, but you put it back into place before he can notice. “That’s... Good. I’m glad. But I should—”

You turn your attention back to Grillby... Who’s no longer there.

Before you can so much as think of a solution to this new dilemma, Sans interrupts your thoughts. “wait. i...”

He trails off, hesitantly, and your sudden frustration fades to nothing once more. He sounds almost... Concerned. And hesitant, as though he’s expecting you to not listen to whatever he wanted to say—to leave and go on with your duties without question.

Abruptly, you understand:

He wants to talk to you.

For all you know that might be the _only_ reason he troubled himself to come here; it’s sort of an unspoken given that he _still_ needs some rest, regardless of if he’s better or not. Clearly it’s bothering him enough to yet again ignore such. You yourself can’t begin to theorize what he would want to talk about that’s _that_ important, but...

Whatever it is, the least you could do is listen.

...And, as much as you owe Grillby, you owe Sans a whole Hell of a lot more.

“What is it?” you prompt, and you surprise him further by sliding into the booth across from him, blinking expectantly.

He blinks back at you.

“...i mean, it’s... if you don’t have the time, i can...”

“I’ve got time,” you counter.

His bone-brows raise slightly.

Then, he laughs softly, the rest of the tension in him appearing to loosen as he stuffs his hands into his jacket’s pockets—a jacket you haven’t seen him wear before, actually. “but it’s kind of... complicated? you sure you want to hear this now?”

“Sure,” you respond easily—probably a bit _too_ easily, in this case. “Can’t be any more complicated than everything else,” you add, trying (and failing) to lighten the mood.

Sans gives you a look you can’t quite decipher, before shrugging something off. “’lright, well... i’ll just... get to the point. ...you, uh. asked about my dad, right?”

...

“What?”

“you wanted to know if you knew my dad before,” he repeats. “...unless you, uh, don’t want to know anymore? but i kind of figured you didn’t say anything else ‘cause you thought i wouldn’t know anything, right? or, what you were going to ask was supposedly crazy, so—that’s... i kind of came here to clear that up, i guess.”

. . .

That’s...

Not even in a category _close_ to the things you thought he might want to talk about, _what_.

“I... Maybe?” you stammer out weakly. “But it was—.... It was more so because I... There was something else I wanted to ask you because he—” You shut your mouth.

~~Why would he believe you?~~

~~Why _should_ he believe you?~~

“ookay, then just... go ahead and ask me.”

“...What?”

Dumbly, you repeat the question, unable to comprehend his nonchalance.

“uhh... ask me what you wanted to?” he prompts, starting to appear just as bewildered as you, for different reasons. “you said he... showed up, or something, right? you’re trying to ask me about that. ...if you still want to, i mean.”

You stare at him.

And he merely... _Looks_ back at you, as though this _isn’t_ crazy? As though _you_ weren’t upon asking it before??

_How???_

“Wh—w-why are you taking that seriously?” you blabber out, trying to comprehend this somehow. “Isn’t he—... _Gone_?”

You don’t think you could be more frustratingly vague if you tried, really.

But for _some_ reason, Sans just? Nods??

“i mean? kind of. if that’s what you want to call it.”

. . .

“You’re taking this _weirdly_ well,” is all you can think of saying, and he shrugs.

“i’ve dealt with weirder,” is his excuse. “...plus, i thought you’d kind’ve just... known all this, too? it’s not unheard of that he’s able to come back.”

Wait.

Does that mean he can talk to Sans too?

...No, more importantly—

“Come back from where?”

At that, Sans briefly shifts his gaze away from you; suddenly apprehensive.

“...i... don’t know. he, uh... he’s called it ‘the void’ before, i think? or, probably something else as equally dramatic and cryptic—but it’s kind of been a while since i heard about it. ...i think.”

...

Huh.

...Well.

That’s certainly interesting.

“But... Why would _I_ know him?” you wonder aloud, not particularly asking—you don’t really expect him to possess the answer. “Or... Rather, why does he see _me_? If he’s able to come back from _The Void_ , or—whatever it is, then...”

Sans seems to ponder this...

Then he shrugs, again, not a few mere seconds later. “beats me.”

. . .

“Seriously?”

“seriously. i’d tell you if i knew something but... honestly, i didn’t even understand him when he still existed.”

Before you can so much as begin to dissect that last comment, Grillby suddenly reappears—and before you can utter a word he hands you a menu.

“Apologies,” he says, “I’ve seemed to forgotten my hospitality. Is there anything you would like?”

You blink back at him, momentarily forgetting how to speak.

“I... No? I mean—I haven’t even done any work yet? You don’t have to—”

“That isn’t on the menu, I’m afraid. Can I offer you something else?”

...

_???_

Quite frankly you don’t know _what_ to say to that, so you just point quickly at the first pictured food that looks somewhat appetizing.

Grillby smiles, all-too pleasantly. “Of course.” He grabs your menu back, turning his attention briefly. “Sans?”

He pointedly looks at the skeleton in question, as though suspecting a specific answer.

The skeleton in question’s response is to stand up from his seat.

“actually, grillbz, i was just about to head out. i’m kinda on a time crunch.”

_What?_

That’s not what he told _you_ , _why_ —

“Wait—” you begin, but he does no such thing.

“anyhow, thanks for humoring me,” he goes on, sidestepping his way over to Grillby. “...oh. hold on a sec, just remembered,”

without giving you a chance to respond in any way, he abruptly removes his jacket from his shoulders and arms—meticulously, almost.

Then, he holds it out for you.

“i was, uh... meaning to give it back before but i kind of... kept forgetting. sorry. ...anyway, it’s... yours?”

As quickly as his sudden nonchalance had come, it’s gone now; replaced by sudden sheepishness.

...You’ve...

Never seen this jacket before in your life? Or, rather—you don’t remember it, at least?

. . .

But that doesn’t _mean_ anything. That’s... Fairly obvious, by this point.

You’re... Not sure what to do, even still.

Maybe...

“...Okay?”

You take it slowly, apprehension clear in your movements.

~~If this is what he wants, then...~~

An emotion you can’t quite read enters Sans’s expression before almost instantaneously disappearing into nonchalance again. “thanks,” he says again, pausing only to snatch the ketchup bottle from the table—then he’s gone.

...

At first you’re furious. For _several_ different reasons.

For one: he had to _be_ somewhere and you were holding him up? Why would he not say anything?!

Second: He used magic again just now? When he’s been advised over and over again _that he needs to take it easy?!_

Third!

...

Okay, you...

Don’t have a third.

Never mind.

...But, those other two _are_ valid reasons to be mad—if you’re going to teach Sans _anything_ , it’s that he needs to learn to stop being so damn _stubborn_.

You hear a small sigh come from your right, and turn to see Grillby still standing there, looking several shades of unimpressed as he rubs his brow. “Figures... _Any_ how.” He looks at you in barely-restrained exasperation, “Would you like me to give you another ketchup?”

You shake your head, watching with a vacant (but yet mildly irritated) expression as the bartender walks away once more.

. . .

...

That skeleton’s going to be the death of you too, isn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~sans what the frick~~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Midnight Snacks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795088) by [saltyseatea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyseatea/pseuds/saltyseatea)
  * [Dreams Come True Sometimes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28832571) by [saltyseatea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyseatea/pseuds/saltyseatea)




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